


A Study in Domesticity

by Gemilyca3



Series: It Just Sort of Happened [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Case Fic, Crime Scenes, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotions, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, Making Out, Morning Kisses, Murder, Parentlock, Post-His Last Vow, in the kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 27,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemilyca3/pseuds/Gemilyca3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How John and Sherlock deal with Moriarty being back while taking care of a new baby and a new relationship. </p><p>Sequel to It's Always You - Picks up where that story ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read It's Always You, I would suggest it because I do diverge from the canon a bit, especially in this story. 
> 
> This chapter is short, but hopefully I will get more chapters up soon! Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> The rating will go up for later chapters.

“So what was so important you had to force us down here?” Sherlock asked his brother with disdain. Mycroft sat at his desk, hands folded above a large manila folder. He eyed Sherlock and John.  
　　

“Do sit down, gentlemen. We have a lot to discuss.” The two men kept on standing out of sheer stubbornness. Mycroft gave them a stern look before conceding, “Fine. First of all, the reason you,” he stared down Sherlock, “are no longer going on your mission.” He turned the computer screen to face the detective and the doctor. The screen went fuzzy for a bit, then, to their horror, a familiar face popped up on the screen.  
　　

_Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

John swallowed hard and looked at Sherlock who was scowling at the screen, eyes narrowed, focused.

“Sherlock...” John started. “I thought he was dead? You said he killed himself! What the _bloody hell_ is going on?!” John became furious. Sherlock just stared at the screen, unmoving.

“Precisely the point Dr. Watson. We had confirmed that James Moriarty was, in fact, deceased. However, I may point out that it was also confirmed that Sherlock Holmes was dead, not to mention Ms. Irene Adler.”

 _Damn Mycroft for bringing up those horrible memories_ , John thought.

“Have you been able to trace the location from which this was sent?” Sherlock finally broke his silence.  
　　

“My best people are on it; however, whoever uploaded this did a very good job covering his tracks. I will inform you as soon as we have any news. Secondly, I feel it is in both of your best interests to accept some of my men to provide additional security at Baker Street.” It annoyed both John and Sherlock to no end that Mycroft always seemed to know their personal business. With that, Sherlock quickly exited the room with a come on, John. John followed.  
　　

“Sherlock Holmes, do not walk away from me! We are not finished here!” Mycroft shouted after them. Mycroft sighed and sent three of his men to follow them, knowing full well that Sherlock would pick up on them shortly. All he wanted was his brother’s safety, which had always proven difficult to obtain, given his stubbornness and penchant for dangerous situations.  
　　  
\---

The cab ride back to the flat was slightly awkward. It was apparent that neither man knew what their next step was. Not in terms of tracking down whoever was behind this Moriarty thing, but in their relationship. They sat in the back of the cab, slightly closer than usual, their hands more so. It was as if each was too scared to breach the distance and grab the other’s hand. When they finally reached Baker Street, they got out of the cab and made their way inside.  
　　

“We should probably let Mrs. Hudson know that you aren’t leaving after all. She was pretty upset when you told her,” John mentioned. Sherlock just ignored him and continued up the stairs. When John finally made it in to the flat, he noticed the detective had shut himself in his room. John sighed and went into the kitchen to clean up and make some tea and supper. As he washed the dishes that always seemed to be piling up-- despite Sherlock’s irregular eating habits-- John thought about this afternoon. Sherlock loved him, and he loved Sherlock. He reveled in his happiness, allowing himself a few moments of peace without the thought of his estranged wife and their unborn daughter.  
　　

John finished with the dishes, then decided to bring Sherlock some tea and a little bit of food; he had made that thing with peas Sherlock seemed to like so much. He quietly knocked on his flatmate’s door.  
　　

“Sherlock, are you ok? I brought you some tea and some food. I made that pea dish you like.” When he got no response, he quietly opened the door. Sherlock was lying on his bed thinking. _No wonder he didn’t answer me_ , John thought. He walked over to the nightstand and set the cup and plate down for Sherlock to find when he was out of his mind palace. As he was about to turn away, John felt something at his wrist. He looked over at Sherlock, who had opened his eyes. Sherlock gave John a slight smile and gently squeezed his wrist before letting go - a silent thanks for the food. John smiled back and then left Sherlock to his thoughts.  
　　

Over the next few weeks, nothing much changed in their relationship: Sherlock still ignored John and kept body parts in the refrigerator and John still nagged him about eating and cleaning up his experiments. But there were some glances and touches to show they cared. Other than that, they still hadn’t talked about, or even acknowledged, their admissions on the tarmac. And nothing had come to light about this Moriarty business. Sherlock was getting especially frustrated, because not only were there no leads for the Moriarty incident, but Lestrade hadn’t even needed his help on any cases.  
　　

Sherlock was mumbling, pacing back and forth around the living room while John was laid out on the sofa, reading a book. He kept eyeing the detective, making sure he wasn’t going to do anything drastic, but let him relieve some of his pent up energy. Suddenly, it got quiet. John looked over for Sherlock but didn’t see him. Next thing he knew, Sherlock had thrown himself on the couch, on top of John, and began to snuggle into the crook of his shoulder.

“Um... Sherlock, what are you doing?” John was confused; this was new, they hadn’t really cuddled before -- in fact, they hadn’t even hugged since their exchange on the tarmac those few weeks back. John struggled under Sherlock’s weight, unsure of how he felt about this sudden contact. When all he got in response was a soft _hmmm_ , and Sherlock nuzzling further into his shoulder, John let Sherlock be and continued reading, his hand slowly rubbing circles on his new couch companion’s back.


	2. Chapter 2

_John, my water just broke. Better head to the hospital. -MW_

_On my way! -JW_

John jumped up from the table where he and Sherlock were having tea. “Mary’s in labor! I need to get to the hospital.” John instinctively grabbed his gun along with his shoes and coat, his heavy breathing and intense look in his eyes gave away just how freaked out John actually was.

“Do you really need that, John?” Sherlock asked indicating the gun.

“Oh!” John looked down at what he was holding and frowned. “Right.” He placed the gun back in the drawer and let Sherlock calmly lead him out of the flat and catch them a cab. John was spewing nervous energy the entire ride to the hospital, Sherlock tried to calm him down by putting a hand on his shoulder, but it did little.

Mary was already in the delivery room when they arrived. John was pulled aside by Mary’s doctor who told him that it looked like there were going to be some complications. They were doing an emergency C-section to get the baby out. John and Sherlock were told to stay in the waiting room until the surgery was done, and then they could see the baby. When they had been waiting more than an hour for the doctor to come back, John started to worry -- something wasn’t right.

“The surgery should have been done by now. Why haven’t they come to talk to us?” John thought out loud. Sherlock sat silently, not knowing what to do in this situation. “I’m going to go ask one of the nurses. Maybe she’ll know what’s going on.”

Just as John got up, Mary’s doctor somberly walked in. John knew that walk all too well. _Oh God. What happened. What happened to my baby?_ His mind was racing. _Something happened. Something bad. Oh God._ Sherlock stood up, too, when the doctor approached. He rested his hand on the small of John’s back, hoping that some physical contact would be comforting. Like John, he could tell that the doctor was bringing bad news. John spoke first, “The baby? What happened to her?”

“Your daughter is fine, Mr. Watson.”

“Doctor,” Sherlock interrupted. “It’s Doctor Watson.”

“My apologies, Dr. Watson. As I was saying, your daughter is fine. She is in the nursery getting cleaned up, you can go see her in a few minutes.”

“If the baby is fine, then...” John realized there was another person in that room. “Mary. Is she alright?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“I am sorry, but your wife didn’t make it.” John knees started to give, but Sherlock held him up. The doctor continued, “She had severe hemorrhaging, we tried to stop the bleeding, but by the time we located the tear, she had lost too much blood.”

John’s stomach dropped. His face went blank and his breathing got heavy at the news, fighting the tears that were forming. John didn’t know how to react. True that he and Mary were separated and he had Sherlock now, but she was the mother of his child, they had history, she helped him when he was in such a bad place. To have all of that gone, and so suddenly was a shock. He turned into Sherlock and cried, no longer able to maintain his normally resolute composure. Sherlock looked down at John, his brow furrowed, unsure of what was expected of him in this situation; he resolved to just hold John. Sherlock slowly wrapped his arms around him and held him tight.

“Is that all, _Doctor_?” Sherlock asked with disdain, angry that this man, this _quack_ , had caused _his_ _doctor_ this pain.

“When you are ready to see your daughter, Dr. Watson, you may go up to the nursery. Level five.” With that he left.

Sherlock continued to hold John for a good ten minutes, slowly moving them back towards the chairs where he eased John down, occupying the adjacent chair himself, and pulled him close again. John’s head was resting on his shoulder as Sherlock reached for the box of tissues sitting on the table next to them and pulled one out for John. “Do you want to go see her now?” Sherlock asked quietly as John blew his nose.

With a sigh he answered, “Yea. I think I would like that right now.”

Sherlock led them up the elevator to the nursery. They were staring at all the new babies through the glass window, when one of the nurses motioned for them to come around to the door.

“You go ahead, John. I’ll wait here for a bit.”

John nodded and entered the room where a nurse handed him his baby. She was so small when John finally got to hold her, swaddled in a blanket with a pink beanie on her tiny head. She slept as he rocked her back and forth. He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard a tap at the door and it opened a crack; Sherlock popped his head in the room. John looked up, smiled and motioned for him to come in and meet the baby. Sherlock hesitantly walked around behind John and peered down curiously at the baby.

“Do you want to hold her?” John asked. Sherlock shook his head; he still didn’t know how to interact with such a small creature. John moved closer to Sherlock, leaning back against him, resting his head on his shoulder. “I decided to name her Samantha; it’s what Mary wanted to name her. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? ” John asked, looking up at Sherlock.

“Is she supposed to look like that? All red and wrinkly?”

John laughed, because he was now a father and, despite everything, it was wonderful.  
　　  
\---

John hated that the job fell onto him to take care of the arrangements for Mary, but he didn’t feel right not doing it. He was her husband after all, despite being estranged, and he knew her final wishes: cremation. A couple of days after Samantha was born, John contacted the funeral parlor to set up a meeting. The hospital wanted to do an autopsy because she died in the operating room, and John acquiesced, so that was going to delay any services. Surprisingly, Sherlock went with him to all meetings pertaining to Mary’s autopsy and cremation. Well, maybe not that surprising. Sherlock did have a peculiar fascination with death. He behaved throughout most of the meetings, but John did have to hold Sherlock back when he almost got into a fight with the medical examiner about Y-incisions versus T-incisions. John made him wait outside after that. The rest of the meeting went smoothly, the coroner informing John that Mary’s cause of death was severe hemorrhaging due to a nick in the uterine lining, a result of the surgery.

The memorial service was set for two weeks after her death. John and Mrs. Hudson sat in the front row of the mortuary chapel. Mrs. Hudson had Samantha in her arms; she felt it was important that Samantha be there for her mother and volunteered to accompany John. It was a small service, mainly because Mary didn’t have any family, just friends. As the minister stood at the altar and started speaking, John looked down at the ceremony program, and a lump grew in his throat. He didn’t realize how difficult this was going to end up being, even after all that happened, both bad and good. He never thought he would be here, at his wife’s funeral. He always thought that when he got married it would be forever; he and his wife and probably some children would live in a house just outside of London, happily living out their days. Things change. Now, not only had he been in a broken marriage, he was also a widower, a father, a blogger, and a locum doctor living with his... Sherlock. He still didn’t know how to classify their relationship; he wasn’t having the easiest time coming to terms with how he felt about his... Sherlock. Never in a million years did he think he would ever have a... Sherlock. John was snapped out of his reverie by the minister asking if anyone would like to say a few words. John stood up to say what he had already prepared. Several of her friends had things to say, and then the minister closed. Everyone somberly exited the chapel.

“We’ll just give you a moment,” Mrs. Hudson told John as she squeezed his shoulder before exiting the room. John remained behind caught up in his thoughts.

“Goodbye, Mary,” he whispered at the vacant space around him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters always seem longer in word than they do here :( Hope you enjoy anyways!

When he arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock was lying on the sofa. John let his eyes wander over the detective, he had never really let himself admire Sherlock before. John’s eyes stopped roaming when he saw three nicotine patches were peeking out from under Sherlock’s rolled up sleeves.

“Three patches again, Sherlock?! Haven’t we talked about this?”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes as he got up from the couch. “How else am I supposed to think, John? You forced me to quit smoking again because of Samantha. I need something to help me organize my thoughts!”

He stood in front of John, completely ignoring his personal space and then leaned down and kissed him. Startled, John broke the kiss. Sherlock had a huge grin on his face, seemingly because of the curious look John was giving him.

“How was the memorial service?”

“It was a nice service, but I still feel like this isn’t real. It’s going to take some time to get used to the thought that I am now a widower,” John responded. Then it occurred to him, “Wait, why are you asking this? It’s not like you to want to talk about feelings.” A flash of hurt quickly passed across Sherlock’s face, and John felt guilty for his blunt words. He was still getting used to this new side of Sherlock, the side that showed emotions--however underdeveloped--and cared for other people. Well, when he said other people, he really meant himself. John had come to know that Sherlock cared more about _John_ than any other person on the planet. That had come as a surprise, even thought he’d always known that Sherlock wasn’t actually a sociopath.

“John, why do you insist on thinking that I don’t care about you? Have I not proven that, especially over the past three years?”

“You’re right, Sherlock. I’m sorry. I’m just not used to it... This whole situation is new to me, and I keep forgetting.” He leaned up and kissed his Sherlock, again. He really needed to figure out what they were, especially now that he was officially no longer married. John didn’t know what he was ready for, so soon after Mary, but he had been living with Sherlock again for about three months and now that she was no longer in the picture, John thought it might be time to establish what he and Sherlock were to each other.

“Sherlock...” he started.

“Yes, John?”

He froze, not sure of how to proceed next. _Maybe this isn’t the right time to bring this up_. “Um...” John started, and was relieved when he was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson.

“Yoo-hoo! John, I’ve brought Samantha up! She’s all fed and changed.” She passed the baby to John.

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I really appreciate it.”

She smiled and went back downstairs. Sherlock addressed John.

“You were saying, John.”

“Umm”

“Yes. We already got that far.”

John glared at him. “I was thinking...” he paused briefly, but continued before Sherlock could say something rude about John’s thought patterns. “I was going to take Samantha for a walk in the park. Would you... Do you want to join us?” He mentally kicked himself for chickening out. Damn it. He was a soldier. He should be able to have a conversation with his Sherlock to figure out where they stood in their relationship.

“Can’t. Going to Bart’s. Molly has some fingers for me, and since I am now forbidden from experimenting in the kitchen, I will be there all afternoon,” Sherlock answered with a look of annoyance. John nodded in understanding, although if he were honest with himself, he was starting to think that Sherlock didn’t like Samantha. He was always doing things to avoid getting to know her; he still hadn’t even held her.

"I’m going to make some tea. You want some?” John asked to break the silence.

Sherlock nodded and went back to the couch and resumed thinking. Turning into the kitchen, John decided he would make them some lunch, too, before they headed to the park. Some tea and sandwiches seemed like a good idea.

As he sat down to eat his sandwich, John got at text from Greg.

_Pub tonight? 9:00pm. -GL_

_That would be great! Just need to see if Mrs. H can watch Sam. -JW_

He looked over at the detective, still thinking on the sofa. “Sherlock, you really should eat that sandwich. Especially since you are wearing three nicotine patches! Doctor’s orders.”

Sherlock huffed before sitting up and taking a bite of sandwich. “There. I ate something,” he mumbled with his mouth full and flopped back down. John just rolled his eyes and continued eating.

On their way out, John and Samantha stopped by Mrs. Hudson’s flat to see if she would mind watching the infant while John let off some steam. As always, she was happy to oblige, with a not-so-subtle reminder that she was, however, his landlord, _not_ his babysitter. They both knew that she would never turn down an opportunity to help, though.

When John and Samantha returned from the park, Sherlock was back at the flat.

“How was your finger experiment? I thought you were going to be gone longer.” John asked as he set Samantha down in her bassinet.

Sherlock replied with a noncommittal grunt while John made his way into the kitchen to get some tea. He brought Sherlock a cup too and sat down on the couch at his feet.  
　　  
　---

“Sherlock, I’m going to the pub with Greg. Samantha is with Mrs. Hudson. I’ll be back late. You’re welcome to join us if you decide to be social,” John yelled as he exited the flat. Sherlock just waved his hand in acknowledgment, but John wasn’t sure if Sherlock actually heard him or not.

Their usual pub wasn’t too far away from Baker Street, so John decided to walk tonight. He could do well with expending some of the pent up energy he had: left over anxiety from today. Fifteen minutes later, he entered the pub and spotted Greg sitting at a booth with a round of pints. John walked over and pulled a beer towards himself as he sat down.

“Evening, John” Greg said with a grin. This obviously wasn’t his first round of the night.

“Started without me, I see,” John chuckled in response.

“You’re late! I said 9:00 and it’s almost 9:30!”

John just laughed and took a swig of beer. It felt cold and refreshing as it slid down his throat. It was just what he needed after the day he had.

“So, I am now a widowed single father to a newborn,” he admitted to Greg.

“Funeral was today? Good thing we’re out for a pint!” They clinked glasses as a salute. “So, how d’ya feel?”

John shrugged, not really sure what he was feeling. “The beer’s helping,” he took another swig.

A few rounds later John got a text from Sherlock.

_John, where did you go? -SH_

_I told you, I went to the pub with Greg. Were you not listening? -JW_

_I was busy. -SH_

John put his phone away. He couldn’t deal with a childish Sherlock right now. He flagged down the waitress and ordered two more rounds of ale. Just as the waitress was bringing their beer, the door to the pub slammed open and Sherlock came barging through the crowd. The waitress handed over the pints with a smile. Sherlock stomped over to the table and rudely snapped at the woman.

“Stay away from my boyfriend. He’s taken,” he snarled as he pushed past her to slide into the booth next to John.

Hearing this, Greg choked on his drink and John turned bright red, from both anger and embarrassment. The waitress scurried away with a short “Sorry.” John turned to Sherlock and started scolding him.  
“Sherlock that was incredibly rude. She was our waitress. What was that all about?”

Sherlock just looked away, still staring down the waitress, ignoring John. Once the anger died down, it clicked in John’s head, what Sherlock had actually said. Hesitantly he approached the subject. “And... What did you mean when you called me your... boyfriend? Is that how you think of us?”

“Of course, John. I never say anything I don’t mean... Unless I need information about a case. Which in this instance, no information needed.”

This news, however pleasing to hear, was overwhelming. John talked himself through it, “Ok. Good. Ok. Wasn’t sure where we actually stand with each other. So... Good to know...”

Sherlock cut John off. “John, you’re babbling again. Also, Lestrade looks like he’s about to go into shock. Perhaps it would be best if you dealt with him.” He got up to leave, but John grabbed his wrist.

“Oh, no you don’t. You brought this up. You have to stay and at least help me explain things here.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat back down.

“Ok. Now will one of you please explain what the hell is going on?! This is for a case, right?” Greg cut in.

Sherlock looked at Greg with annoyance at his inability to keep up.“Two and a half months ago, John and...”

“TWO MONTHS?!” Greg shouted. Sherlock just rolled his eyes again at the DI for not listening.

“Two and a half. Yes, Lestrade. Do keep up. I’m sure even your slow neural synapses can keep up with what I’m saying. John and I started an intimate relationship.” John was blushing at this point from the openness of Sherlock’s story.

“John! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Greg asked, a little hurt that his friend hadn’t felt like this was information to be shared.

“Well, I wasn’t really sure, myself, what to call this. And I mean it hasn’t really even been intimate... But I guess Sherlock cleared that up tonight.” He turned to his... boyfriend and gave him a smile, which was, surprisingly, returned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby's first crime scene.

John was sitting in his chair feeding Samantha, who was growing bigger every day; he couldn’t believe how fast time flew. His sorrow at loosing Mary was quickly being replaced with the joys of being a father. Sherlock was in the kitchen working on some god-forsaken experiment -- the prohibition on kitchen experiments hadn’t lasted long-- which he assured John would not be harmful to the baby. But Sherlock had a knack for turning even the most seemingly benign experiments into something volatile, so John was a little dubious. They had settled into taking care of a newborn quite well, seeing how full-time fatherhood was thrust upon John. Sherlock was still Sherlock, but he had been helping--not hands on with the baby, but with other little things. He had taken to making their morning tea and would even prepare a couple of slices of toast for John while he dealt with Samantha. He was cleaning up his experiments more and leaving fewer body parts in random places around the flat. He had also kept his word and had not smoked a single cigarette since Samantha was brought home. Samantha had just started to fall asleep when Sherlock’s phone rang. She started screaming, angry that something had disturbed her slumber. John successfully calmed her down and she fell back asleep. Sherlock barged into the living room and was about to inform John that they had a case, possibly related to Moriarty.  
　　

“John!” he yelled, but he stopped suddenly when he saw that Samantha was asleep. He whispered instead, “That was Lestrade, we have a case!”  
　　

“Sherlock, I’m a little busy right now. I just fed Sammy and got her to sleep. I can’t leave her and Mrs. Hudson is out. You’ll have to go without me.”  
　　

“That’s preposterous! Just bring her with us.”  
　　

“Sherlock! I am not bringing my baby girl to a crime scene! That’s just not right!”  
　　

“Do you really expect that she is never going to come to a crime scene with us, John? Might as well get her used to what we do at a young age.”  
　　

“No, Sherlock. It is not happening. She’s barely three months old!”  
　　

“Exactly! She won’t even remember it! Come on, John. I _need_ you.”  
　　

“Sherlock...” John said in a quiet, warning tone.  
　　

Sherlock just gave him a look and said “Please?”  
　　

John glared at him for doing that. How does one say no when Sherlock Holmes says please? _Fuck_. “Fine. I can’t believe you are making me bring my daughter to a bloody crime scene.”  
　　

Sherlock rummaged through a bag and pulled out a papoose. “Here! I got this for when we started bringing her on cases.”  
　　

John rolled his eyes; of course Sherlock would have planned on bringing her to crime scenes. He went upstairs to grab the baby bag and got Samantha settled in the carrier strapped to his chest.  
　　

“Are you sure this isn’t a dangerous crime scene? We aren’t going to go chasing after any criminals right? Also, I don’t think Greg is going to be happy we brought Samantha along.”  
　　

“Don’t worry, John. And besides, you can stay behind if any chasing is to be done,” Sherlock responded as he shuffled John out the door.  
　　

As they got out of the cab, Greg immediately strolled up to them.  
　　

“Oh, no! You are not serious.”  
　　

“I told you, Sherlock. I said he would not be happy.”  
　　

“You both are going to have to get used to there being a new person at crime scenes with us from time to time. And _she_ needs to get used to it too. We can’t have her being squeamish when she grows up.”  
　　

John and Greg both rolled their eyes. “Well, come on then,” Greg conceded. “But if she starts making a scene, you need to take her outside.”  
　　

John nodded.  
　　

“What have we got?” Sherlock asked, eager to get on with the task at hand.  
　　

“Fredrick Williams, 45. Found dead by a neighbor, half out, half in the doorway. It appears he was just getting home from work.”  
　　

“What’s special about this?”  
　　

“Well, it appears to be natural causes of death. The Medical Examiner thinks heart attack, but I received an email implicating the wife of murder. We’re tracking her down right now.”  
　　

“Were you able to trace the email?”  
　　

“We have some of the computer forensics guys working on it now, but whoever sent this was good at covering his tracks. They aren’t having much luck.”  
　　

“If they prove as incompetent as usual, I know someone who could help.”  
　　

They finally got to where the body was and Sherlock immediately started examining it and its surroundings, though he refused to share any of his deductions. He just dragged John and Samantha away to go find his hacker contact.  
　　

“Tell Molly that I’ll want to reexamine the body once she has it in the morgue,” Sherlock ordered Lestrade as he ran out the door.  
　　

Sherlock showed up at the St. Bart’s morgue later that afternoon, without John and Samantha, as John had insisted that she needed feeding and a nap, again. Lestrade and Molly were waiting with the body when he arrived. If John were with him, Sherlock probably would have pointed out that the conversation seemed to be of a less than professional nature, given the way Molly was blushing and touching Lestrade’s arm. Sherlock was missing his usual appreciative audience, though, so he kept his observation to himself.  
　　

“Ahh, Molly, Lestrade. Where is the body? I want a closer look.”  
　　

Molly opened up one of the coolers and wheeled the corpse over to the autopsy table. She looked at him with sight annoyance, not understanding why he didn’t trust her to do her job properly, but all he had to do was give her a little half smile and she couldn’t help but be compliant.  
　　

“So how are you and John? I hear you two are together now,” Molly asked.  
　　

“Yes, but don’t try to make small talk, Molly.” Sherlock responded curtly and moved over to the autopsy table.  
　　

The corpse had been divested of all clothing already. Sherlock was closely inspecting the body with his magnifying glass when he noticed something under the arm. “Oh!” He quickly grabbed a swab before going back to the body. He rubbed the swab over the injection point, hoping there was a viable sample.  
　　

“Run a toxicology screen on this sample. Make sure you include insulin.” Turning to Lestrade he asked, “Do you have a medical history for the victim?”  
　　

“Not yet. Still waiting for the wife to send it to us.”  
　　

With no more information to gain, Sherlock left the morgue without so much as another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would think I would be better at coming up with crimes with the number of crime scene dramas I watch!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrolly! :D

Greg was more nervous that he thought he would be. This wasn’t his first date-- he was quite the lady’s man back in the day-- but it had been a while; he hadn’t actually dated much since he and the missus split up. He was sitting at the booth, fiddling with his pint when Molly walked in. He had wanted to ask her out for a while, but things kept getting in the way, like pesky fiancés and drugged up consulting detectives. As she approached the table he stood up.

“Molly. Hi.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and sat back down. He mentally berated himself, _oh, was that a hug moment instead of a kiss moment? Shit, now she’s going to think I’m being presumptuous._ But when she smiled and slid into the bench next to him, his nerves quieted quickly. They were chatting easily over a basket of chips and a couple of pints when Sherlock came out of nowhere and sat down across from them.

“Sherlock...” Greg started but was quickly cut off by the detective rambling about their current case. Greg rolled his eyes and looked at Molly, who was trying, rather unsuccessfully, not to laugh. He smiled and reached for her hand under the table, squeezing it gently when he found it. They allowed Sherlock to continue, too wrapped up in their own happiness to really care how awkward their situation was. Sherlock had been talking for five minutes straight when John entered the pub and, spotting Sherlock, walked directly over to their table, stopping beside Molly.

“Hello Greg, Molly. Didn’t expect to see you two here. Sherlock didn’t mention...” he looked down and saw their hands. “Oh. Sorry,” his expression changed from embarrassment to frustration as he turned to his idiot of a boyfriend. “Sherlock! What are you doing? Didn’t you  _observe_ that they are here on a date?!”

“Of course, John. I saw Lestrade asking Molly out at the hospital yesterday. I didn’t realize that they were coming here, though. Do you think I am an idiot?”

“That’s up for debate.” Sherlock made a face that John ignored as he continued, “Sorry, I’ll just get him out of here. We can get our own table.”

John went to grab Sherlock’s arm to drag him away. “Don’t be silly. You are welcome to join us,” Molly said, looking to Greg for confirmation. “Right, Greg? It’ll be like a double date!”

“Yeah, alright.” He was slightly disappointed, but figured this would be a common occurrence since Sherlock had no boundaries and knew them both.

With a confirming look of  _are you sure?_ John slid next to Sherlock, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “So, when did this happen?” he asked, waving a hand to indicate them as a couple.

“Um... Actually this is our first official date,” Molly blushed as she admitted to John.

“Christ. Are you sure you don’t want us to leave?” John asked one more time, making to get up.

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, eager to get on with discussing the case, but was cut off every time he opened his mouth to say something by Greg, John, or Molly exchanging dull pleasantries. Sherlock sulked for the rest of the evening and refused to eat anything John pushed at him. When John had enough of Sherlock’s childish behavior, he dragged the detective home, having to listen to Sherlock whining about they never got to discuss the case the whole way.

Back at the pub, Greg and Molly were laughing at their luck.

“Actually, it’s kind of nice that you know how to put up with Sherlock,” Molly admitted. “I have a feeling that isn’t going to be the last time we get interrupted by him. It wouldn’t work out if the person I was seeing couldn’t handle being disturbed by Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yeah, I know... Me too.” Greg smiled at Molly, who leaned in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a few days before I upload Chapter 6. I am still editing/writing the rest of the chapters. Hopefully I'll get them up soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Chapter 6! Sorry for the delay, my friend/editor is doing grad school stuff so she's pretty busy and for some reason thinks school is more important than writing fic. ;P

Two weeks later, Sherlock connected the case with Moriarty. With the help of their favorite consulting detective, Scotland Yard had already proved that the wife was not as innocent as she appeared -- hired an assassin to kill her husband with his own insulin medication, wanted the life insurance money, quite plebeian. Now said detective was trying to convince the police that this was related to Moriarty.

“Lestrade, you have to see it! It was traced back to Ireland.”

“Lots of people live in Ireland, Sherlock. That doesn’t mean that it is involving the mystery with Moriarty. Besides, he’s _dead_! That video broadcast back in January was probably just a prank by someone who remembered the Richard Brook/Moriarty case.”

“I don’t believe that. The signs are all there! Look at the similarities between this case and the ones with the pips - hired assassin, getting rid of a spouse. It all fits.”

John chimed in not sure who’s side he was on. “But, Sherlock, they really aren’t _that_ similar. It could just be a coincidence. I’m having a hard time seeing the connections.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot.” That comment got Sherlock a glare from a very not pleased John. “Besides, the universe is rarely so lazy,” he rebuked and turned back to Lestrade to try and continue his argument.

“Sherlock, you need to get me more evidence if you want me to reopen this case! And it’s going to take _evidence_ , not just your mad speculations.”

Sherlock, having filled his quota of stupidity for the day, exited Lestrade’s office, determined to prove he was right; that this case was connected to Moriarty. Once back at Baker Street, Sherlock realized he had left John behind.

John came back to Baker Street a couple of hours after Sherlock left him at New Scotland Yard. He was fuming about being abandoned, so he picked up Samantha from Mrs. Hudson and took her to Regent’s Park for the afternoon so he could cool off before confronting his boyfriend about his behavior. Sherlock leapt at John and Samantha when they returned and started talking a-mile-a-minute about how he figured out the connection with Moriarty.

“John! I was looking through old records and managed to find a more information on James Moriarty. He came from a wealthy family out of Dublin. There’s not much information about them, but I plan on digging deeper. I think he might have a brother, there were hospital records for a woman who is probably his mother and a certificate of a live birth, but I can’t find anymore information than that.” Sherlock slammed his laptop closed, frustrated that he couldn’t figure this out immediately.

“So do you think this is some type of revenge for his brother being dead?” John asked.

“I don’t think so. We haven’t been targeted directly, I don’t think it’s revenge.” Sherlock starred off, caught in his mind.

“Do you have enough evidence to get Lestrade to reopen the case?”

“Unfortunately, none that he can use.”

“What do we do in the meantime, then?”

“We wait.”

\---

Greg walked into the Italian restaurant and spotted Molly sitting at the corner table reading the wine list. He sat down across from Molly; she was looking lovely as ever. He leaned across the table and gave her a passionate kiss. They hadn’t been seeing each other long, but Greg, at least, felt very comfortable in their relationship. They just clicked. Molly pulled away from the kiss with a smile on her face.

“Hello,” She said.

“Hi, Molly.” He pulled out the menu and started reading. “So, what are you having?” he asked a couple of minutes later.

“Hmm... I was thinking the vegetable lasagne and a garden salad. You?”

“Pizza Margherita and a cup of minestrone.”

When the waiter arrived, they placed their orders. Molly reached her hand across the table to hold onto Greg’s. He grinned at the contact. They talked and laughed and when their food arrived, Greg was telling Molly about the latest case that Sherlock and John were consulting on.

“I wish I could re-open the case, but I can’t! I don’t have enough evidence.” Greg sighed, he really did want to help out Sherlock, “Ever since he came back, the higher-ups have me on a short leash when it comes to Sherlock consulting on cases. I have to follow protocol this time.”

“I know, but, knowing Sherlock, he will come up with something, and then you can look into it again.”

“It’s not just that. I’m worried. He is convinced that this case is related to Moriarty. The last time he became obsessed with this man, he died! I don’t want him to do something drastic again.”

“But... Moriarty? He’s dead, right? Sherlock said...” Molly was getting a little uncomfortable, Jim being her ex and all. She was glad that ended when it did, or who knows what would have happened. Greg sensed her discomfort and tried reassuring her.

“Yeah, and John and Mycroft both seem convinced that Moriarty is actually dead. Sherlock thinks this is a family connection, a brother I think he said.” Greg could tell this information did little to assuage her worry. But by the time they finished eating, Molly seemed content, done with worrying about Moriarty.

“Do you want to go get some ice cream for dessert? I saw a place not too far from here.” Molly asked. Greg called the waiter over for the check, and after paying they left the restaurant, hand-in-hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/constructive criticism are always welcome!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of character development. I hope it's not out of character. Hope you enjoy! :)

After months and months of waiting, Sherlock was... bored didn’t even begin to describe what he was. Lestrade had no cases, at least none that were above a seven. Molly had put an embargo on the body parts at the morgue, so he didn’t even have any experiments he could do. There weren’t even any enticing cases through his website or John’s blog! John tried to distract him with little things, like taking Samantha to the park, or to the museums -- really, it was an excessive amount of outings for someone who wasn’t even going to remember any of it. Sherlock was getting sick of baby related outings. He needed a good puzzle -- a murder! _Why does the criminal population have to be so dull right now?_

“Joooohn! I _need_ a case!” Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa, arms flung about. He had been whining for the last hour and a half, and John was not amused anymore.

“Why don’t you just take one of the ‘boring’ cases from the website if you’re so bored.”

“I shouldn’t _have_ to take boring cases! Why can’t people be more interesting!”

“Sherlock, cut it out. I am exhausted. I just put Sam down and now I just want to relax,” John said, as he walked over to the couch and pushed at Sherlock’s legs. “Budge up.”

It had been a busy afternoon for John; he took Samantha to get a checkup and her 6 month immunizations, then they went to the park and stopped at the store on their way home to pick up milk and something for dinner. Just as he sat down and reached for the remote, his mobile rang. It was Sarah, from the clinic. Three of the doctors called in sick and they really needed John to come in for the rest of the evening; he agreed to come in. They could always use the extra money, especially since they had Samantha now. He went to see if Mrs. Hudson could watch Samantha, but unfortunately she was leaving for her bookclub in fifteen minutes and couldn’t. John approached Sherlock, suddenly realizing that he had never asked his boyfriend to take care of Samantha alone before. Come to think of it, Sherlock hardly interacted with the baby at all.

“Sherlock, I got called into the surgery and Mrs. Hudson can’t watch Sam. I need you to. Please,” he said as he rubbed the detective’s shoulder. Sherlock looked up at him, a mix of annoyance and fear in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Sherlock. You’ll do fine with her. She’s pretty exhausted from our outing in the park and I just changed her. She should go to sleep easily, when you’re ready to put her to bed. There’s formula and baby food in the fridge if she gets hungry again and she’s got some toys upstairs by her crib. You can put her down up there, just remember to take the monitor so you can hear if she starts crying...” Sherlock’s eyes widened with the mention of a crying baby.

“John, I don’t think I am the best choice for this. Just tell Mrs. Hudson she needs to skip her bookclub this week.”

“Sherlock, I am not going to do that. I really need you to do this for me. It’ll give you something to do -- so you’re not bored. I will only be gone a couple of hours. The clinic closes at 8:30. Please, will you just do this for me?”

Sherlock looked defeated, “Fine. But you had better answer your phone if I text you.”

“Alright, thank you, Sherlock. I really appreciate it. I will be home as soon as I can.”

Samantha was playing in her play-pen; John picked her up and walked her over to Sherlock.

“Daddy is going to go to work for a while. Will you be a good girl, Sammy?”

She smiled at him and giggled -- he took that as a “yes.” He placed the baby in Sherlock’s arms and gave them both a kiss goodbye before rushing out the door.

When John got back from the surgery, it was later than he expected. They had a backlog of patients and ended up staying open late to get through the majority of them. He entered the flat and called out to Sherlock and when he didn’t hear a reply he went looking for the detective. He didn’t find Sherlock on the couch, where he last saw him, or in his room. John started to panic when there was no sign of the detective, dashing up the stairs, hoping to find his daughter in her crib. He pushed open his bedroom door and saw Sherlock curled up, asleep, on top of the duvet, and Sam sound asleep in her crib, which Sherlock had pulled right up against John’s bed. As he stepped closer to them, John realized that Sherlock’s fingers were pushed through the slats in the crib and Sam had one of them in her tiny fist. John’s heart melted. Being as quiet as possible, he stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, crawled into bed, and wrapped himself around Sherlock. John soon drifted off to sleep, a slight grin on his face.  
　　　  
\---

John and Sherlock were woken up several hours later by a soft cry from Samantha. Sherlock groaned as John tried to push him off. Somehow Sherlock managed to pin John to the bed in a mess of limbs and sheets. The doctor realized that this was the first time they had shared a bed since they admitted their feelings to each other. The cries soon turned to screams and with one more push at the detective, John managed to get out of bed and went over to the baby’s crib. “John... Make it stop!” Sherlock whined which got him a glare from John.

“She probably just needs a change,” he said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I’ll take her downstairs so she doesn’t disturb your beauty rest!” Picking her up from the crib, John hushed and rocked her as they left the room.

Once John had her settled with a new diaper and a bottle of milk, he heard Sherlock descending the stairs. He offered no greeting to the detective, still perturbed at his reaction to Samantha’s cries -- not to mention, John hadn’t been getting enough sleep because of Samantha, which made him extra grumpy. Sherlock flopped onto the sofa with an exasperated sigh and looked at John. John just sat in his chair with the baby while Sherlock kept huffing, trying to get his attention.

“Jooohn...” he whined for the third time.

Finally fed up with his flatmate’s shenanigans, John raised his voice. “What Sherlock? What is it? I’m trying to take care of my daughter. I can’t always pay attention to you!”

Sherlock looked confused at John’s reaction. He obviously didn’t realize he had done anything to upset John.

“John? What... Did I... Did I do something?” he asked cautiously. A lot of things had changed since he got back from his “leave of absence.” He was more aware of emotions and how what he said could affect people in illogical ways, but he still had trouble realizing when something shouldn’t be said until it was already too late. He was desperately trying to remember what he had said to John that could have made him so upset.

“Yes, Sherlock! You called Sammy, my baby, it! She’s a person, you know. Not just that, but she’s my flesh and blood and since we are not only friends, but in a relationship, then that means that she is something to you too! Especially if you love me like you say you do. We are a package deal, Sherlock.”

Sherlock saw the hurt on John’s face and hated himself for being the one who put it there. “John, I’m... Sorry. I... This is all still really new to me. Not only all these feelings and emotions, but having something so small and fragile to take care of too.” He looked down at the floor. “I am not used to having so many weaknesses, John.” He looked up at John.

“Having a family isn’t a weakness, Sherlock.”

“It is when you’re in our line of work. Especially with all this mystery about Moriarty. What if whoever is behind this figures out how much I care about you? If anything were to happen to either one of you, I don’t know what I would do.” Sherlock looked away, ashamed he was having so many open emotions. “I have never been so unsure in my life.”

John carefully got up from his chair and moved next to Sherlock on the couch. Still holding Samantha in his arms, he turned to the detective and planted a huge kiss on his lips. Pulling away he looked down at Sam and then back up at Sherlock. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’ve just been really tired and stressed lately. I kind of lost it.” John apologized frustrated with his childish behavior. “Do you want to hold her?”

“I don’t know, John. She wasn’t too fond of me this evening,” he looked away, slightly embarrassed.

“I’m sure you did fine earlier.”

“She wouldn’t stop crying until I laid her down.”

John gently placed Samantha in his arms. Sherlock was nervous at first, his previous experience not having gone all that well. Samantha squirmed and he tensed, but relaxed again once she settled, nestling into his arms. He looked up at John, surprised that she hadn’t started crying.

“See, you’re doing fine! She loves you.” John whispered as he planted a kiss at Sherlock’s temple. John tickled Samantha’s stomach, and she giggled and smiled up at them before grabbing Sherlock’s finger in her fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John make out sesh. :D If it's not your cup of tea, just skip the third paragraph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter for now. This is my first attempt at any kind of sexy times so go easy on me! :P But I would love to hear thoughts and comments!

John was in the kitchen making coffee when Sherlock came in. He felt guilty for his slight overreaction the night before and decided to make a special breakfast -- not that Sherlock would actually eat it, but it was always worth a try. John knew they were both just tired and stressed and it all came out last night. The books didn’t even begin to cover actually how exhausting it is raising a child, especially as a single parent; until last night, Sherlock had done little to help out with Samantha. He was glad that they worked everything out, and especially glad to find out that Sherlock actually did love and care about Samantha -- John had started worrying about that.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” John said with a laugh and turned to smile at his boyfriend before continuing to prepare breakfast. Sherlock grumbled at the use of a pet-name and walked up behind John, wrapping his arms around his waist. John leaned back into the embrace, and Sherlock pressed a kiss on the top of John’s head.

“Good morning.” His voice was still rough from lack of use; that voice did things to John he never thought another man’s voice would do. John turned around, still encircled by Sherlock’s long arms. He looked up into the detective’s eyes, pupils wide with desire. Slowly, Sherlock leaned down and caught John’s lips with his own. John hesitated before leaning into the kiss. He pulled Sherlock closer, feeling the warmth of his body against his own. John parted his lips and Sherlock took full advantage: their tongues brushed against each other, causing John to moan at the new sensation. Sherlock slid his hand up John’s spine to his neck, angling his face, pulling him even closer. Still keeping contact, Sherlock backed John up against the counter, lifting him slightly so he was sitting, bringing them to equal height. John ran his hands through the detective’s dark curls, already disarrayed from sleep, and Sherlock groaned in pleasure, only lifting his lips from John’s for a moment, holding the back of his head tighter. Sherlock’s lips traveled from John’s down his neck, and John responded by tightening his legs around the detective’s hips. With one hand still at the base of John’s neck, Sherlock’s other hand traveled up John’s thigh. John let his hands travel across Sherlock’s back, feeling the muscles rippling slightly, stopping at the small of his back as Sherlock’s lips found John’s again, mouth open. His hand traveled further up the doctor’s thigh as their kiss deepened rapidly. Just as Sherlock’s hand had reached the top of John’s thigh, the kettle whistled and John slowly broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s; both men were panting.

“Well, that was new,” John said as he tried to catch his breath. Sherlock just smiled at him, gave him another quick kiss, and sauntered into the living room. John waited a minute before hopping off the counter to finish preparing their breakfast. Several minutes later, John brought out two plates of toast and two cups of coffee. Sherlock was lounging on the sofa, so John set the food down and lay down with him. As they lay together, eating, John thought how he never thought he would be here in a million years. He never thought he would have a mad genius detective as a boyfriend and that said boyfriend could get him so riled up... And he wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

They spent the rest of the morning lazily kissing each other.Their relaxing morning got cut short, however, when Mrs. Hudson came around for a chat. Seeing John and Sherlock curled up on the sofa together made her coo with delight.

“You boys! What a wonderful sight.” She was grinning, so happy that her boys finally pulled their acts together. John blushed slightly, embarrassed to be caught in a position more intimate than usual, while Sherlock just rolled his eyes and pulled John closer. Mrs. Hudson went on and on about how they were perfect for each other and how she was so happy that they had gotten back together. Despite his best efforts, John was never able to convince his landlady that he and Sherlock were nothing more than friends for their first five years together. Just as he was about to protest, again, Samantha started crying from upstairs. John rushed to grab her while Sherlock entertained Mrs. Hudson. More cooing occurred when John rejoined them with Samantha in hand.

“Oh! She’s gotten so big!” She reached out to take the baby. “Look at you, darling! You’re growing so much, Sammy.” Mrs. Hudson continued to talk to Samantha while John cleared away their breakfast dishes. While he was washing the dishes, his mobile rang.  
  
“Greg. Hi.”

“Got a case! He’s going to like this one.”

Sherlock beamed when John told him they had a case. He ushered Mrs. Hudson out of the flat after she agreed to watch Sam while they went to investigate. As always, she left them with a reminder that she was their landlady, _not_ their babysitter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another crime scene! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. The next few chapters are done, so hopefully posting will be a little more regular! Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy.

An hour later, John and Sherlock arrived at St. Bart’s where Greg and Molly were waiting. They were immediately filled in on the case - a missing person.

“Family dog brought back a severed finger. Prints trace it back to a missing persons case from five years ago.” Sherlock’s eyes lit up at the mention of the severed body part. He immediately located it in the morgue and took it from its resting place to examine it while Lestrade continued to fill them in. “Emma Waters, 28, graduate student at the University of London, was on her way home from the grocery store when she disappeared - probably taken from the alley next to it - her roommate notified police when she didn’t come home. No CCTV footage showed anything out of the ordinary, though in the alley, there were signs of a struggle. But it’s like she just disappeared. We had several leads later on in the case, but all were dead ends. This is the first we’ve had any clue as to her whereabouts.”

“That name sounds familiar. Did we work the original case?” John inquired.

“Yeah. It was only the second or third case you worked with Sherlock. There were a series of disappearances with little evidence left behind - they were all taken from places where the CCTV didn’t reach, alleyways, side streets, and the like. All the locations showed signs of struggle, but we only found trace evidence and fingerprints that belonged to the victims. We _thought_ Emma Waters was one of the victims but when Sherlock eventually tracked down the killer, he confessed to all the kidnappings but was adamant that he had nothing to do with Emma Waters’ disappearance. The trail went cold with the Waters case and even Sherlock can’t pull evidence out fo thin air.”

Sherlock was busy inspecting the finger, ignoring what Lestrade was saying. After several minutes he blurted out “She’s alive.”

Lestrade, Molly, and John all looked at him with confused expressions.

“What? But her finger is cut off.” Greg was taken aback at this news, having long ago given up hope that they would ever find Emma Waters alive.

“Yes, and one can survive having a finger cut off.”

“I don’t understand. How do you know she was still alive when her finger was removed, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked.

“See here,” Sherlock showed them the cut edge of the finger through the magnifier. “The blood flow pattern indicates that the heart was still pumping when the finger was amputated. John and Molly will both be able to confirm this.”

Molly took the finger and carefully scrutinized the mangled flesh at the end then passed it to John. She looked up, surprised, “I think he’s right. It does look like the victim was still alive when the finger was severed.”

“Of course I’m right, Molly.”

With Molly’s second opinion, Greg immediately got on the phone and ordered search and rescue dogs instead of the “human remain” dogs to patrol the area.

Lestrade, Sherlock, and John joined the patrol outside of London. The dogs searched the rural area for hours to no avail, but just as they were about to pack it in, one of the dogs picked up a scent and went tearing down a wooded path. The search party quickly followed the dog until they found it sitting in front of a dwelling. Lestrade and Sherlock pushed their way to the front of the group.

“Ms. Waters. Are you there? Hello?” Lestrade cautiously entered the apparently abandoned shack while Sherlock followed close behind, inspecting every inch of the building for any insight. The interior of the cottage, in contrast to the facade, did not look abandoned. In fact, it was quite the opposite. There were pictures on the wall and food in the pantry. There was a small ice chest that contained some perishables, but there was no electricity. There was a wood burning stove and a nice fire place. It looked like something out of an American western movie - a one room cabin.

“Sir,” one of the constables addressed Lestrade. “We secured the perimeter, no sign of anyone. But we did find some sort of staining on a block out back.”

The trio followed the officer outside and around the back of the cottage. Sure enough, there was a fairly large, red splotch on the stub of a tree trunk that was apparently used for cutting firewood. Sherlock inspected it further, taking his own sample, not trusting Anderson and the other forensic technicians to do a good job with the analysis. John leaned over Sherlock.

“Yep, that looks like blood,” he confirmed.

Sherlock moved from the blood stain to the grass. To the unobservant, there was nothing unusual about the ground; it had rained the previous night so there were several spots with puddles. To Sherlock, however, the puddles fell into a pattern - tire treads. He followed the faint tracks past the house. Without a word, Sherlock went back into the house to do some more searching. When John made his way inside too, Sherlock started talking.

“This is good. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before!”

“Realize what?”

“The boyfriend.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“She ran away with her boyfriend, John!”

They walked outside again to tell Lestrade what Sherlock had come up with.

“Wait, so how do you know there’s a boyfriend?” John asked.

“Boyfriend?” Lestrade overheard the duo talking, “She had a boyfriend?”

“Pictures! There were photographs all around the cottage. Do you never look at your surroundings? There was a man in several of the photos. He was obviously unrelated to the victim, and in the pictures where they are together their positions indicate an intimate relationship.”

“Ok. So did you figure out what happened to her? Why her finger got cut off?” Lestrade asked.

“She was cutting firewood when the ax slipped and chopped off her finger - there was rust in the wound on the finger, I noticed it back at the lab, and there is a rusty ax laying next to the pile of wood over there - ergo, the finger was severed with the ax. From the state of the yard, and the fact that it is autumn, she was most likely chopping fire wood. The finger must have rolled away and she was unable to find it to bring it to the hospital to get it reattached. Also the cut was not clean enough for them to have actually been able to reattach it, so it wouldn’t have mattered anyways. She was most likely too panicked to do a proper search for it. The dog was wandering through the woods, picked it up, and brought it home to its family as a treat.”

“Brilliant!” John exclaimed, gaining looks from the Yarders and a smile from Sherlock.

“I would advise you check nearby hospitals for a woman with a severed finger. Because of the rust, they would want to keep her at least overnight to make sure no infections form.”

Lestrade nodded and ordered his men to search the hospitals.


	10. Chapter 10

They found Emma Waters at a hospital five miles away from the cabin, about an hour after their search began. She was still asleep when they arrived and her doctors wouldn’t let them question her yet. When she finally woke up, they were escorted into her room.

“You can have 15 minutes. But if we get any signs of distress, we’ll have to ask you to leave,” one of the nurses informed the trio. She left them to do their work, leaving the door cracked so she could hear the machinery at the nearby nurse’s station.

“Ms. Waters, my name is Detective Inspector Lestrade. This is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. They are consulting on your case. Would you like to tell us what happened?”

“I was just...” She started to speak but started crying instead. Lestrade walked over and tried to comfort her.

“Just take a deep breath and start from the beginning -- when you disappeared five years ago.”

She choked back a couple of sobs before continuing. “I just needed to get away. I was studying economics at the University of London, and it just became too much. I realized that I didn’t want to have that kind of life anymore, but I knew my parents wouldn’t understand...” She looked away, holding back more tears. She was just about to resume her story when a man walked in the room and over to her bed. He picked up her hand and gave it a kiss before addressing the three strange men in the room.

“Hello. Who are you? What are you doing here?” the man asked, his voice tinted with a slight accent.

“They’re the police, Henri.” He looked surprised at the news.

“We’ve just come to clarify a few details since Emma has been missing,” Lestrade cut in. “If you would go on, please.”

“Like I was saying, my family wouldn’t understand that I just wanted to live a simple life. Henri and I planned to get away, move to the countryside, build a house, raise some chickens...” She trailed off, enjoying her reminiscence. “We were having trouble with the details of disappearing, when I was approached by someone at school.” Sherlock, piqued with interest now, began to listen more attentively.

“Do you know who this person was?” Lestrade questioned.

“I...”

“No.” Henri cut off whatever Emma was trying to say. “We did not know this person. She was a stranger.”

“Do you remember what she looked like?”

“Long, dark hair. She was pretty and nice. Oh! And she was Irish,” Emma shared, but Henri gave her a look of concern and disapproval. She obviously wasn’t supposed to be giving any information away. John and Sherlock looked at each other.

“Moriarty.” John whispered

“Oh, no! Sherlock, you’re not on that still?” Lestrade was cut off by Emma.

“That name is familiar. I think that was her last name...”

Lestrade’s mouth dropped open. He never really believed Sherlock’s conspiracy theory that James Moriarty had a sibling, but now he was starting to have doubts.

“Ok. So why weren’t you reported as missing?” John asked Henri.

“Oh. He’s obviously French!” Sherlock interrupted before Henri or Emma could answer. “Slight accent, his name is pronounced _en-ree_. Quite close to his family, probably talked with them every few weeks. There were lots of pictures of his family in the cottage. He is also older than Ms. Waters is by at least a year. He would have already graduated, thus not been enrolled -- the school would not have been aware of his disappearance.”

“Yes, my family lives in France -- I did not go missing. They knew where I was,” he confirmed. “And we have gone to visit them on several occasions.”

John pulled Sherlock aside and asked, “If they were traveling, then why was Emma not recognized at the airport or train station? How was her passport not flagged?”

Henri hesitantly answered, having overheard John’s inquiry. “Our helper. She gave us a new passport for Emma, and told us how to travel without attracting attention.”

“Did she ever say why she was helping you?” Lestrade was still suspicious.

“I thought she was just being nice....” Emma admitted, slightly embarrassed at her foolish behavior.

“Do you have any more information on this woman? Any contact information, whereabouts? Any clues at all to where she is?” Sherlock was getting antsy. What was he missing? His previous find had indicated that it was a brother, not a sister.

Emma shook her head. “No, she only met with me once. She approached me in a pub. We started chatting and everything just kind of came out. She said she could help. After that, she just mailed me some things, like the passport, a new ID, a credit card. She was always the one to make contact. I never had any information about her.”

Fed up, Sherlock stormed out of the hospital room. John apologized for Sherlock’s behavior and left to go find him. After a few minutes of searching the hospital, he found Sherlock out front smoking.

“Sherlock...” John warned, eyeing the cigarette.

“Just the one, John. I promise.”

“Don’t worry, Sherlock. We’ll get whoever is actually behind this. We got Moriarty before and we’ll get this person soon.”

John put his arm around Sherlock and squeezed him. Putting out his cigarette, Sherlock returned the gesture and then hailed them a cab back to Baker Street.

“Whoever’s doing this can’t stay hidden forever.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic fluff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't posted a new chapter in a while, I was on vacation in ENGLAND!!! It was awesome, but now I'm back. So, here's another chapter.

Sherlock was moping around the flat again. Not that this hadn’t been a common occurrence before, but it was happening more frequently, given Sherlock’s frustration with the elusive criminal behind Moriarty’s resurrection. At this moment, Sherlock was once again in his favorite position for sulking: sprawled out on the couch.

“We need milk.”

John looked over with annoyance because Sherlock always just stated the lack of milk, but never did anything about it -- unless pestering John to the point that he went out and got it himself counted.

“You could always go get some,” John suggested.

“Ugh. Shopping. Shopping is boring. You do it.”

John rolled his eyes. He always gave in too quickly, but today Sherlock was being extra childish so he didn’t even bother arguing. “Fine,” he said as he put on his coat before picking up Samantha. “But that means you’re watching Samantha.” He placed the baby in Sherlock’s arms and left before Sherlock could argue more. _Serves him right for being childish. Let’s see how he likes dealing with a child._

Sherlock stared at Samantha, who was making gurgling baby noises. He was getting better with her but he still didn’t like being alone with her. What if something happened and John wasn’t there?

“So....” he tried to converse with Samantha, but then resolved to just go about his normal business, with the baby tagging along. He confiscated John’s laptop and checked his website to see if he had any interesting clients, but, as usual, their problems were all dull.

“Dull, dull. This case is barely a three! This one’s a four. Do these people really think I would want to investigate these petty occurrences. Uck, a two!" He scrolled through his emails, not realizing that he was bouncing Samantha on his knees and talking her through what he was doing. “Oh, why is everyone so dull?”

Samantha just blew some spit bubbles in response.

“Yes, I suppose so.” He closed the laptop. “We could do a couple experiments, I have been wanting to test a new theory I have regarding the effect of microwave radiation on the optic nerve.”

When John got back from the store, he could hear Sherlock making a ruckus upstairs. He hoped nothing too dangerous was going on while Samantha was with Sherlock. Hurrying up the steps, John entered the kitchen. His mouth dropped open at the sight: Sherlock was pulling an eyeball out of the microwave, making verbal notes about its appearance and the perceived damage caused by the microwave. All with Samantha strapped to his chest in the papoose.

“Sherlock! What are you doing?”

“Oh! John, you’re back. We were just doing a little experimenting. I have this theory about microwave radiation and its effect on the optic...” He was cut off by John.

“With Samantha?”

“Obviously. What else was I supposed to do with her?”

“Not experiment!” John shouted, noticing that Samantha was reaching for the dangling eyeball. “No, Samantha. Don’t touch that.” He tried to pull her hands away. “Sherlock, could you move that?”

“Oh? Yes.” He dropped the eyeball in the beaker on the kitchen table.

John closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. With a sigh, he put the milk and other groceries away, letting the experimenting go. It was actually really cute, he thought, that Sherlock was taking to Samantha so. He was worried, for the first few months, that it would be too much for Sherlock and that John and Samantha would have to find somewhere else to live.

John was incredibly pleased that Sherlock had become more hands-on with Samantha after the night he watched her while John was at the clinic. He had taken to teaching Sam about various topics, most of which John was sure she was unable to comprehend at such a young age, but he thought it was the most Sherlock way to parent. John discovered one evening that Sherlock had even started a notebook chronicling the baby’s developments. It was a nice change, to see Sherlock in a more adult role, almost acting like a normal father.


	12. Chapter 12

“Come on, Sherlock. Please? Samantha would really want you there.”

“John. She’s nine months old! She doesn’t even know who I am!”

“Of course she does! Why do you think she has stopped crying when you hold her, hmm? She recognizes you. And she loves you!”

“This is an absurd holiday. And parents are always teaching their children not to talk to strangers, yet there is a whole evening dedicated to it! It’s idiotic.”

“It’s fun! And besides, you can have some time to think about it, Halloween is a couple of weeks away. But Samantha and I would really like it if you came with us.”

Sherlock pouted. He really did not want to go trick-or-treating with John and Samantha, but he was quickly learning to pick his battles. He sat there and thought about it for a minute: how could _he_ benefit from this?

“Fine. I’ll go. But you owe me three experiments of my choosing, without complaint!”

“One experiment.”

“Two.”

“One and I’ll talk to Molly about letting you into the morgue again. Still don’t know what you did to get her to ban you like that!”  
Sherlock thought about the proposition for a minute. He was getting tired of not having access to fresh body parts. “Deal,” he said and leaned down to seal it with a kiss.

“And no complaining while we’re out!”

“That was not part of the deal, therefore I make no promises.” Sherlock grinned at John, he did love to be difficult. John just rolled his eyes.

The morning of Halloween, John was in the kitchen making tea and toast for breakfast. Sherlock came in, holding something behind his back. John sighed, “What did you do this time?” This wouldn’t have been the first time Sherlock tried hiding something from John. Sherlock looked slightly taken aback that John automatically assumed he did something wrong.

“Well, I know it’s customary for children to dress up for this _holiday_ ,” disdain tinted the word. “So I commissioned Mrs. Hudson to make her a costume.”

John was shocked. This was such a sweet and unexpected gesture on Sherlock’s part. He felt the guilt rise in him that he thought Sherlock had done something bad.

“Oh! Sherlock! That’s wonderful. What is it? Let me see!”

Sherlock held up what looked like a tan blob with arm holes covered in colorful dots and swirls. Seeing the look of confusion on Johns face, Sherlock cleared it up for him.

“It’s a cell, John. See here is the nucleus, and the Golgi complex, mitochondria, endoplasmic reticulum, ribosomes...” John had stopped listening. This was the sweetest gesture ever from Sherlock. John smiled at his boyfriend who, despite being a self-proclaimed sociopath, obviously cared about his family more than he let on.

“That is amazing, Sherlock! She is going to love it! I’ll just go put it up in her room until it’s time to go out.”

He gave a quick kiss to Sherlock before taking the costume and heading upstairs. John eyed the bumble bee costume he had bought for Samantha weeks ago, and hid it in her closet. Sherlock’s costume was much better, even though Samantha was the cutest little bee ever - she would make an even cuter cell. And it was something that was just so Sherlock.

At about 5:30 they went out trick-or-treating. Mrs. Hudson demanded to take pictures of the three of them and fawned over Samantha’s adorableness in her new costume. John thanked Mrs. Hudson profusely for taking the time to sew the costume.

“Oh. Don’t be silly! It was my pleasure. I couldn’t resist, especially when Sherlock told me it was a surprise.” She was smiling at her boys and their baby. “I got her measurements when I was watching her one afternoon. She was a jewel! Now you have fun!” She sent them off with a wave and snapped a couple more pictures as they were heading down the block.

They survived. There were lots of children and their parents wandering the streets of London, hyped up on sugar. Sherlock managed to complain little, but kept on insisting that Halloween was a ludicrous holiday. John could tell that he was enjoying himself for the most part though. He kept sneaking pieces of Samantha’s candy, and when caught would argue that she was too young to even eat it. John would laugh and steal a piece for himself. They got some stares, being two men with a baby, but most of the mothers cooed over Samantha and told them they were such a cute family. By 7:00 Samantha and Sherlock were getting grumpy and tired, so John decided they should head back to Baker Street. They walked hand-in-hand, Sherlock carrying Samantha, and John decided that this was definitely one of his favorite nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. So I know Trick-or-treating isn't as big of a thing in England as it is here in the US, but just go with it! :) I hope it wasn't too OOC for Sherlock and John.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little chapter, but I think it's a good one! :)

Sherlock headed to St. Bart’s, pleased that John had managed to convince Molly to raise the embargo on body parts. It really was unreasonable of her to deprive him of vital resources just because he’d accurately deduced that Lestrade was being an idiot again. Molly had several fresh corpses that had been donated and Sherlock couldn’t wait to test some of his theories on them. He entered the morgue and approached Molly, who was hunched over an open body, clearly performing an autopsy.

“Oh, Sherlock, you’re here!”

“Obviously,” He said as he looked around the morgue. “Where are the bodies?”

“It’s, just, I was expecting you earlier...”

“Yes, well, Samantha needed tending to and John was in the shower, so it fell on me,” he rolled his eyes, annoyed that he was having to explain himself when what he really wanted was to get on with his experiments. “The bodies?”

“Oh, right. Yes. They’re in freezers one, four, and seven. You can work on them in that room.” She gestured to a tiny room off the morgue, one that Sherlock was familiar with.

Several hours later, Molly entered the room he was in. He had just finished examining the third body and was getting ready to leave. He eyed Molly, she had smirk on her face and seemed... giddy. Sherlock was unfamiliar with this behavior and found it suspicious.

“What?” he asked cautiously.

“You. And John. And a baby. It’s sweet.”

“Yes. I’m with John and he has a child. I don’t see why that is ‘sweet,’ or relevant, for that matter.” He was getting annoyed with everyone making a big deal out of John having Samantha. Sherlock didn’t understand - so they had a baby now, it hardly required any major life changes for him. They still went to crime scenes, and Sherlock still experimented, and the crying in the middle of the night was new, but then again, Sherlock never got much sleep anyways. Lost in thought, he realized that Molly was still talking.

“It’s just... I never would have thought... you would be the domestic type...” She babbled on and Sherlock just continued to stare at her like she was mad. “Oh, nevermind. You’ll understand soon enough.” She ushered Sherlock out of the morgue. “Go home to John and Samantha.”

Sherlock stood there, in shock of what just happened. He had never been so underhandedly kicked out of the morgue before. And, he hadn’t seemingly done anything to cause Molly to kick him out. He sighed and figured he would go home, since he had all of the data he required anyways. On his way out, he ran into Lestrade who awkwardly greeted Sherlock. _Ahhh, Molly and Lestrade have another date. That’s why she kicked me out._ Pleased with his deduction, he exited the hospital and hailed a cab home.

When Sherlock got to Baker Street, he could hear John pacing in the kitchen upstairs. His steps were heavier, so he was carrying Samantha. Recently, John had stopped letting Samantha crawl around and had begun pestering Sherlock to help child-proof the flat. Sherlock thought this a ridiculous notion; how would she learn not to get into things if not by trial and error? He made his way upstairs, listening for John. The doctor was grumbling about something; probably Sherlock’s experiments in the kitchen. Why did John not understand that it was the best place for them? He was always making Sherlock clean up. Sherlock entered the kitchen and froze in the doorway when he heard John talking. “...and when your Papa gets home, he’s going to be in big trouble if he doesn’t clean up his experiments. Isn’t that right?” John swung Samantha around stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Sherlock standing in the doorway, mouth slightly open in shock.

“Sherlock?” John asked. “Are you alright? What happened?” Sherlock continued to stand there, completely still. John got a sense of deja vu; this was what happened when Sherlock found out he was John’s best friend. _Oh, he must have heard me say Papa to Sammy. Damn it. What was I thinking?_ John started to panic. He talked himself down and then walked over to Sherlock.

“Ummm...” Sherlock started to say. “I...” John just continued to look at him. “Papa?”

“Yes...”

Sherlock gulped. “You think of me...” John nodded. “...as... Samantha’s father?”

John sighed, relieved that Sherlock finally got it out. “Um... Yea, if that’s ok with you. I probably should have talk...”

“Yes.”

“Really?” John didn’t think Sherlock would take it this well.

Sherlock nodded; now it clicked what Molly was saying earlier. How had he not realized his fatherly behavior before? John smiled, kissed Sherlock, and then pulled him into a hug.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More domestic fluff. And a case! :D

“Mail for you, Sherlock. Looks like it’s from your parents.” John handed Sherlock the cream-colored envelope. Sherlock gave the envelope an evil stare and tossed it towards the fireplace, which, thankfully, wasn’t lit. John picked the letter off the floor and handed it back to Sherlock. “Just open the damn letter, Sherlock. Your parents aren’t that bad.

Actually, they’re quite wonderful, you know, aside from naming their children Sherlock and Mycroft. I will say you definitely got the better end of that deal.” John chuckled, amused with himself.

Sherlock conceded with a sigh and opened the letter. “No,” he stated. John looked at him worriedly and confused. “They are coming to London for Christmas. They want to have a family dinner, which you are invited to, my mother states.”

“That sounds lovely. Why don’t you want to go?”

“Dull. An evening with my parents and Mycroft?” his brother’s name said with such scorn. “Why would I ever purposefully subject myself to an evening of that?”

“You did last Christmas, when we all went to your parents’ house.”

“Ulterior motives, John. I needed to be there. Now there is no reason for me to be around them.”

John rolled his eyes, “They’re your family! Why don’t we invite them here? Mrs. Hudson can join us.”

Sherlock grimaced, he did not enjoy celebrating holidays; he didn’t see the point. But he could tell that John wasn’t going to let this go, and that it would make him happy, so Sherlock decided to acquiesce. “Fine. But only if Mrs. Hudson makes her _bûche-de-Noël_.”

“I’ll talk to her. Call your parents and Mycroft to let them know we’ll have Christmas dinner here.”

 

\---

 

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes showed up at 2:00pm Christmas Day, with presents in hand and Mycroft trailing behind. Sherlock’s older brother looked peeved that he was forced to join in the festivities. He could, for all John cared, go mope with Sherlock on the couch. John greeted their guests and ushered them upstairs while Mrs. Hudson flitted between the two flats, carrying dishes back and forth. When the new arrivals entered 221B, they were surprised at the sight that greeted them: Sherlock sat on the sofa, Samantha in his arms, quietly rocking her back and forth.

“Oh! Sherlock! What a sight, I never thought I would see.” Mrs. Holmes exclaimed.

John walked over and picked Samantha out of his boyfriend’s arms. “This is Samantha,” he introduced. “Sammy, This is Grandmummy and Granddaddy Holmes.”

Mrs. Holmes looked happily surprised at her new title. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that!”

“Oh. Should we have asked first? I just though... I mean, Sammy already calls Sherlock Papa, so I figured...”

“It’s wonderful, John.” Mr. Holmes interrupted. “Should we be expecting another announcement soon?” He chuckled. John blushed and Sherlock looked annoyed. They hadn’t even had sex yet and now they were expected to get married?! John started panicking until Sherlock said something.

“Oh for Christ’s sake! Father, do stop before John runs away from embarrassment. And Mummy, go downstairs and aid Mrs. Hudson. I am sure she could use a hand.”

When dinner was finally served, everyone was on their best behavior, even Sherlock and Mycroft. Mrs. Hudson made a delicious Christmas roast, of which John had three helpings, and even Sherlock cleared his plate. They feasted and conversed and laughed; it was just the family gathering John had hoped for. Sherlock pulled out his violin before dessert and played some Christmas carols. Wine was drunk, presents were opened, and shortly after, the rest of the Holmeses left.

“Don’t make me suffer through that again, John.” Sherlock crashed on the couch, refusing to help clean up the flat.

“Can’t make any promises. They’re family, Sherlock you can’t never see them, although we all know you do your best.”

Sherlock groaned at the thought and rolled away from John.

“I promise that we can have a quiet New Year. Just the three of us?” He smiled and lobbed himself onto the couch, snuggling into Sherlock.

\---

John’s mobile rang early in the morning. Sherlock groaned at the disturbance and rolled away from John who reached for the ringing phone on his nightstand.

“‘llo” John sleepily greeted.

_“Did I wake you?”_ the voice on the other end asked.

“mmmhhhmm. Who is this?” John yawned as he sat up in bed and turned on the side lamp. Sherlock growled and threw a pillow over his face.

_“It’s Greg. I’ve got a case for Sherlock. Is he up yet?”_

John yawned again, “No. What time is it?” He eyed the clock. “Jesus, Greg! It’s 4:30 in the morning!”

_“Criminals don’t keep normal business hours.”_

A sleepy chuckle escaped from John “Fine. I’ll get him up. Mind you, we will have a grumpy almost one year old with us. Where should we meet you?”

_“Down at King’s Cross.”_

“See you soon.” John hung up the phone and rolled over onto Sherlock. He slowly moved the pillow and trailed kisses along Sherlock’s jaw.

“Sherlock,” John whispered. “Wake up.”

Sherlock hummed and cracked open an eye. “Lestrade?” Sherlock asked hopefully.

“Oi! I don’t want you saying another bloke’s name while we’re in bed together!” John playfully shoved at Sherlock. “But yes, that was him on the phone. He’s got a case for you.” 

Sherlock sat up, a grin on his face. “I know I promised you a quiet New Year, but...” John started to apologize to Sherlock but was interrupted by the detective.

“Murder beats quiet any day of the week, John!” Sherlock planted a kiss on John’s lips before rolling out of bed to get dressed. John sighed. He had been hoping they could have slept in a bit, maybe enjoyed some breakfast in bed, but this was life dating the world’s only consulting detective. He got up and followed Sherlock into the bathroom, brushing his teeth and shaving while Sherlock took a shower. Once dressed, John went upstairs to wake up Sam. He knew she was not going to be happy about this and he really didn’t want to put up with a grumpy baby - she had started picking up several Sherlockian habits, including the famous sulking. She stubbornly allowed John to get her dressed and carry her downstairs and out of the flat to meet Sherlock, who had managed to grab a cab already. John was grateful for Sherlock’s ability to hail a cab at any hour of the day or night.

Once at King’s Cross, Sherlock practically jumped out of the cab and raced over to where the crime scene tape was hanging. John trailed behind carrying a very grumpy and very sleepy Samantha; she had managed to fall back asleep on the ride over but was again woken up by Sherlock’s enthusiastic exit from the cab. By the time they reached the scene, Sherlock was already bent over the body, poking and prodding it. Lestrade walked over to John and Samantha.

“John.” Lestrade nodded to John.

“Greg.”

“Hey, Sam.”

She glared at Greg, upset that she was woken up at this ungodly hour.

“Woah! I know she’s not related, but man, can she channel Sherlock!”

“Oh, yea. _The look_. She started doing that a couple of months ago.” He chuckled and kissed Sam on her head. He secretly loved that she was picking up a little bits of Sherlock, granted he would rather it be the genius deductive skills, but he was hopeful that would come later. “So wanna fill me in? What happened?”

Sherlock strolled over to the group and started explaining what he found. “Simple domestic. The man was a serial adulterer and not very covert about it. Various texts on his phone. Further inspection of his phone revealed an angry girlfriend, possibly ex.” He found the texts and displayed them to Lestrade and John. “He was strangled from behind, by a shorter person.” When John and Lestrade looked confused at how he knew that, he explained with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Ligature marks at the back of the neck are angled downward, she’s shorter than him and used a rope. I found fiber samples in the wound, it will need to be verified, but my preliminary examination suggests that the material was nylon. Really, Lestrade, this was hardly worth my time. It wasn’t even a four.”

“Yeah, but we would have been here a lot longer if I hadn’t called you in, and I really want to get back to sleep.”

This time it was John’s turn to glare at the policeman. “You mean... to tell me, that you woke us up at _four in the bloody morning_ , just so you could solve this a couple hours sooner than normal?!” John was fuming, and if he hadn’t been holding his sleeping daughter at the time, would have probably punched Greg in the face. It was a rarity that Sherlock had to intervene on John’s behalf.

“It’s fine, John. Let’s just go home,” Sherlock said as he pulled John away from Lestrade and towards the main road where they could catch a cab back to Baker Street.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samantha turns 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah! I'm sorry for the delay in posting the latest chapter.

John was hanging streamers and decorations around the flat while Sherlock lazed around on the sofa.

“I don’t see why we have to make this a big deal.” Sherlock was refusing to help on the grounds that celebrating birthdays was a nonsensical tradition - he never understood traditions.

“Because, Sherlock, our daughter is turning one tomorrow! And we all survived.” John was getting tired of Sherlock’s lack of understanding the importance. “It has been a difficult year for everyone. I think it would do us all good to celebrate one of the good things that happened. And since you wouldn’t celebrate our anniversary...”

“Again,” Sherlock cut him off, “another silly tradition, John. We lived together for several years before this, so why would it be surprising that we would make it another year living together?”

John rolled his eyes. “Because we were not in a relationship before.”

“Yes, we were.”

“No. Sherlock. Not the same thing. Now could you get off your lazy arse and help me with this?!”

Sherlock huffed. He clearly wanted no part in the festivities, but John was using his _this is no time for games_ voice and Sherlock had learned the hard way not to mess with John when he got like that. “I just don’t see why we have to people over.” he whined as he held up the end of the streamer so John could pin it to the wall.

“Because everyone wants to see Sam, and it’s just something that people do!”

When they finished, John sat back and admired their work.

“See, it looks nice.”

“Ridiculous, John.”

Samantha, who had been playing on her rug, crawled over to Sherlock.

“Papa! Up!” She ordered, tugging on his trousers. Sherlock picked her up.

“Do you want a party, Samantha?” he asked her. She wiggled in his arms and clapped her hands.

“See, she’s excited.” John said, pleased that his daughter was siding with him. “You want a party, don’t you, Sammy?” He tickled her, making her squirm even more in Sherlock’s arms. “Seems you’re out-numbered, Love.” John said to Sherlock, planting a kiss on his lips. “Looks like the party is going to happen.”

Sherlock just gave John an exasperated look and sat down, with Samantha, in his chair.

\---

The next day, Mrs. Hudson came up early to bring the cake. “Oh! Boys, it looks so festive!” She pulled out her camera and started snapping pictures. When Sherlock saw the camera, he immediately walked back into his room and slammed the door. John went to coax him out of the room while Mrs. Hudson and Sam started getting ready for the party.

Molly and Greg were the first to arrive, hand-in-hand. John was pleased to see they were working out. Before long, the rest of the guests had arrived, most of them other parents that John had met through the clinic or from his outings in the park. There were only a handful of people, but Sherlock was feeling overwhelmed - he didn’t like being around people, especially when he didn’t know them and had to be on his best behavior. This meant that he mostly hung around Molly and Lestrade while John played host. The children played in a corner; being around a year old, they didn’t really do much other than roll around and bang the toys together. Sherlock was watching John chat with one of the mothers - she was obviously flirting with him. Sherlock wouldn’t stand for that, so he went over to them and possessively put an arm around John. John looked up at him and smiled before introducing him.

“Beverly, this is Sherlock.”

“Aahh, so you’re Sherlock! It’s a pleasure to meet you. John talks non-stop about you, you’re a very lucky man.”

“Luck has nothing to...” Before he could finish, he was elbowed in the ribs by John. “I mean... Nice to meet you, too.” He held out his hand in greeting. The woman - Beverly - chuckled and shook his hand. Before she could continue her abhorrent behavior towards his boyfriend, Sherlock whisked John away.

“Sherlock, that was a bit rude.”

“She was blatantly flirting with you, John. I had to stop her.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, just because someone is being nice doesn’t mean she is flirting!”

“But she...”

“No, Sherlock. Just drop it.”

Thankfully, before Sherlock could argue more, Mrs. Hudson walked in with the cake. John went to go grab Samantha and just as the candles were being lit, Mycroft walked in.

“Ahh, Mycroft.” Sherlock acknowledged his brother. “You must have a sixth sense about these things,” he said, raising his eyebrows and eyeing the cake. Again, John elbowed him and whispered for him to be nice. When the childish behavior between the two grown men ceased, everyone enjoyed cake and presents. Molly and Greg got Samantha a stuffed giraffe and a book about zoo animals and she received a new purple dress and matching shoes from Mrs. Hudson. Other gifts included more toys and clothes and a couple of books. After everyone was done with their cake, they started to trickle out of the flat. When only Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft were left, Sherlock pulled John aside to give his present.

“What’s this?” John asked as he took the envelope that was handed to him.

“I... I didn’t want to do this with everyone here, but this is my present for Samantha. If you want...” He trailed off uncertainly, a rarity for the detective, as John opened the envelope. As he realized what it was, he looked up at Sherlock, surprise on his face, tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Adoption papers?” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “You... you want to... adopt Samantha?” His face went blank he was in such a state of shock. He was touched that Sherlock loved him and Samantha so much. He never thought that Sherlock would want this, he wasn’t one for formalities. Sherlock started to panic, not understanding why John wasn’t saying anything, just breathing heavily.

“If you don’t want me to, John, I... It was just a thought... I...” He went to take the papers from John but instead was yanked down into a kiss.

“Of course, Sherlock! I would love it if you would adopt Samantha.” John whispered as he pulled away, smiling. “Is that why Mycroft is here? To notarize the papers?”

Mycroft stepped forward, “That, and I thought I would wish my niece happy birthday. I, too, have a present for her.” He presented the child with a stuffed pony. “This is just until you are old enough for riding lessons and a real pony.” He handed an even more shocked John another envelope. “This has all the information about her pony - a Dartmoor pony. It will be cared for at the stables, I would suggest regularly taking her there so she and the pony can get used to each other.”

John’s mouth was still hanging open when Sherlock started talking to his brother.

“You got our daughter a pony? For her first birthday? Really, Mycroft, we don’t want her to be spoiled!”

Mycroft smirked at Sherlock’s displeasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating will go up for the next chapter. Consider yourself warned. ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change.

Once the papers had been signed and Mycroft left, John put an exhausted Samantha to bed. As he walked down the stairs, he spotted Sherlock cleaning up. John couldn’t help but grin at his amazing boyfriend for this wonderful day. He walked up to Sherlock, who had bent down to clear off the coffee table, and took Sherlock’s hands in his. Sherlock stood up, looming over John, who stared up at him. Slowly, John wrapped Sherlock’s arms around his waist and tiptoed up to kiss him. Sherlock was still getting used to John initiating these intimate moments; for the majority of the time, it was Sherlock.

John’s hands made their way to Sherlock’s face, pulling him down into the kiss. Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around his boyfriend, squishing them almost uncomfortably close together. Sherlock turned and slowly lowered them to the couch, John straddling his lap. His hands rubbed up and down John’s back, moving slightly lower with each pass, until his hands reached the curve of his arse. He pulled John closer, pressing their bodies against each other, eliciting a moan from John. Sherlock took this opportunity to thrust his tongue into the doctor’s mouth. John rocked his hips against Sherlock’s, deepening the kiss with each thrust. His hands searched Sherlock’s arms and chest and stopped at the top button of the detective’s purple shirt. Slowly he worked the buttons open, kissing his way down Sherlock’s chest as he went. Sherlock threw his head back, “John...” he moaned in ecstasy. John kissed his way back up to Sherlock’s mouth, nibbling at his collarbone along the way. Sherlock quickly pulled John’s jumper off and started undoing the buttons on his shirt, mirroring John’s previous actions with added vigor. When Sherlock reached John’s stomach, he leaned back. John groaned at the loss of contact, which was quickly remedied by Sherlock moving his hands to the strained front of John’s trousers. He managed to undo the belt and get them unzipped before John stood up. Sherlock looked up at him, worried that he had gone too far this time - while they had been sharing a bed for the last six months, they had done little more, in terms of intimacy, than some heavy make-out sessions. But from the desire in John’s eyes and the alluring grin on his face, Sherlock realized John had no intention of stopping.

John reached out his hand for Sherlock and slowly pulled the detective off the couch. Leaning forward, Sherlock bent down and kissed John again, rougher this time. Sherlock nipped at his lower lip as John pulled away to lead them towards the bedroom. Sherlock eagerly followed the shorter man down the hallway that seemed incredibly long. Once inside, John turned to close the bedroom door but was spun around and shoved against the door by Sherlock, slamming it shut. John pulled him down and kissed him, plunging his tongue into his mouth. He went for Sherlock’s trousers but was stopped when Sherlock grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head and pressed up against him. John groaned again at their proximity and was suddenly silenced by shock at Sherlock slowly making his way downward. With his hands now free, John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s dark curls, guiding him rhythmically. John’s knees began to buckle with the warmth of Sherlock surrounding him. He pushed Sherlock off him and took control once more, pushing him towards the edge of the bed. Before Sherlock could stop him again, John fully divested Sherlock of his clothing. Standing back, he admired the beautifully pale body before him and removed the rest of his own clothes. Before John had time to overthink the fact that they were both completely naked and what they were about to do, Sherlock grabbed John’s hands and pulled him towards the bed, wrapping his long legs around John’s firm waist. He fell onto the detective, inducing a grunt as their lengths touched for the first time.

The room was filled with quiet moans as John reached between them, wrapping his hand around their members. Sherlock rutted against John, trying to increase the friction.

“Oh, God, Sherlock!” John cried with pleasure before crushing his lips against Sherlock’s. The detective hungrily kissed back as their pleasure mounted and John’s pace quickened.

“John!” Sherlock shouted as he went over the edge, pulling John to pleasure with him. Panting, Sherlock pushed up and kissed John.

“That. Was. Amazing.” John said between kisses.

Sherlock smiled, mimicking their conversation the first night they met as he replied, “Do you think so?” John chuckled and fell against the detective’s chest, his legs and arms too weak to hold him up properly, burrowing into Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock pressed kisses into John’s soft, blond hair and whispered, “I love you.” He felt the doctor smile and heard him mumble the same sentiment into his shoulder. Exhausted and thoroughly spent, they quickly fell asleep in each other’s arms.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long to post the next chapter. I will try to be more regular about the rest of the chapters. :D Hope you enjoy this chapter!

John and Sherlock were having a bit of a spat over if this was an appropriate crime scene for Samantha. Now that she was over a year old and starting to retain things, John was worried that seeing the more gruesome scenes, like murdered corpses, would affect her. Sherlock’s stance was that she was going to have to get used to it at some time or another because her fathers solved crimes for a living. Neither of them was phased by the fact that seeing her parents fighting might affect her too.

“No, Sherlock. She cannot come! And since we don’t have a babysitter I have to stay too!”

“But I need you there, John!”

“No you don’t! I don’t really do much anyways, you can always have the Medical Examiner tell you about the body and cause of death.”

“The Medical Examiner is an idiot. And she won’t work with me.”

“Well, it’s no wonder seeing as you always call her an idiot to her face!”

“John I...”

Sherlock was interrupted with a cough coming from the foyer. Recognizing that particular cough, he whirled around and scowled at his brother.

“What do you want, _Mycroft_? Can’t you tell we’re a little busy.”

“Yes, I heard. And I am sure half the block heard you too.”

Sherlock grimaced, but then a thought came to him.

“Actually, you _do_ have impeccable timing.” He walked over to where Samantha was playing with some blocks and picked her up. “How would you like to spend the afternoon with Uncle Myc, Samantha?”

Mycroft’s eyes grew, shocked not only that his brother had just referred to him as “Myc,” which he loathed, but that he was now being presented with a baby. John would have stepped in if the look on Mycroft’s face wasn’t so hilariously uncharacteristic.

“No. Sherlock. I don’t think... Ooof!” Samantha was forced into his arms and before he could protest further, Sherlock was dragging John out the door.

“We’ll text you when we’re done with the case.” Sherlock called out to his brother.

Once out of the flat, John asked Sherlock “Are you sure she’s going to be ok with Mycroft? I’m actually not too sure if I feel comfortable leaving her with him.”

“Oh, she’ll be fine. The worst Mycroft would do is pawn her off to Anthea, or a hired nanny, for the day.”

“Still doesn’t really quash my concerns, Sherlock.”

Mycroft stared at the baby he was now holding out in front of him, arms outstretched so she couldn’t grab onto his tie for the fifth time.

“Hello,” Mycroft said to his niece. He honestly had no clue how to interact with such a small creature. 

Samantha wiggled in his hands and laughed, “Hi.”

Mycroft was surprised that he got a response, but then again, he was unfamiliar with speech development in children; something he never expected to need to know. The two of them just continued to stare at each other. Every once in a while Samantha would wiggle and try to grab his tie or face. He hadn’t realized how long he had been standing, holding the baby until Anthea walked into the flat.

“Um, Sir, is everything alri...” She cut off as soon as she saw the scene in front of her. Unsuccessfully trying not to laugh at her boss’ perplexed expression, Anthea walked over to Mycroft and Samantha.

“Well, hello. You must be Samantha,” she addressed the baby first, then looked at Mycroft. “Do you really not know how to hold a baby?”

He just scowled at her, until Samantha started frantically looking around.

“Da-da?” She called for John and Sherlock. “Papa?” When she got no response, realizing she was abandoned by her fathers, she started wailing. This caused Mycroft to almost drop her; luckily Anthea snatched her out of his hands and tried to comfort her.

“There, there. It’s ok. Your dads will be back soon. Shhhhh.” She tried to calm the baby down, rocking her back and forth, walking her around the room, hoping that the familiar surroundings would get her to stop crying. Half an hour later, Anthea managed to quiet the wails to soft, sporadic sobs. She set the baby down and confronted her boss.

“Sir, I really have to get back to the office now. I can cover your meetings for you,” she said as she quickly exited the flat before Mycroft could try swap places with her.

“Anthea!” he yelled, firmly down after her, hoping his strict tone would bring her back, but to no avail. Mycroft returned to his brother’s flat and stared down at his ward, who was sitting on a blanket with some building blocks, tears still streaming down her face. Mycroft took a step closer to her. She eyed him with distrust as he got closer and sat down next to her. When he tried to play with her she started screaming again, and Mycroft panicked. He tried to distract her with the blocks, then a stuffed teddy bear, and when that failed he tried to pick her up. Unfortunately, he had never been the most comforting person, and was still unfamiliar with how to properly hold a baby, and that just seemed to make her cry even more. He quickly pulled out his mobile and immediately dialed his brother.  
　　  
\---

The first time his phone rang, Sherlock was examining an unusual spot on the floor of the crime scene. He was too busy to be bothered to answer, so he ignored it. Several seconds later, it rang again, and this time John was close enough to hear it ringing.

“Sherlock, your phone.”

“Can’t. Busy.”

“Sherlock! It could be Mycroft, something about Samantha!”

“It probably is.” He waved John off, still focused on the evidence in front of him. The phone stopped ringing.

“Damn it, Sherlock. Give me your phone. NOW.”

Sherlock huffed, "Back pocket.”

Frustrated, John knelt down and yanked the phone out of Sherlock’s pocket. Any other time, John would have tried to cop a feel, but he was frustrated with Sherlock’s laziness and still unconvinced that Mycroft was the best choice of babysitter. Phone in hand, John stepped outside and returned Mycroft’s call.

_“Sherlock! You need to come back! She won’t stop!”_ John could hear his daughter making a scene in the background.

“Mycroft, It’s John.”

_“John, you and Sherlock must come back.”_

“What’s wrong, Mycroft. Is Samantha alright?”

_“She just keeps crying. She won’t stop. I have asked her to stop and she is just ignoring me.”_

John chuckled, _wonder who she learned_ that _from_ , “She probably just realized that Sherlock and I aren’t there. She’s been doing that lately, crying when we’re not there. Even to Mrs. Hudson. She’ll be fine. Just try to distract her,” he heard Sherlock calling for him. “You will both be fine, I have to go. Sherlock needs me.” He hung up the phone, feeling slightly guilty that he’d left his daughter with Mycroft.

Two and a half hours later, John and Sherlock entered their flat. Samantha was still sobbing, albeit significantly quieter than John had heard over the phone. Mycroft was out of sorts: his tie was loosened and his hair was in disarray, his coat was strewn across Sherlock’s chair, he was nursing a glass of scotch. The baby was sitting on her blanket, somewhat distracted by her teddy bear. As soon as she saw John and Sherlock make their way towards her, she stopped crying, got up, and wobbled over to them. John swooped her up in his arms and gave her a kiss.

“I’m sorry we left you, sweetie. But Papa and I are back now. And you got to be with Uncle Mycroft.” She started crying again at the mention of her uncle, who was already half way out the door by that point, eyeing Sherlock.

“Do not ever do that to me again, little brother!” He was out of the flat before Sherlock could come up with a retort.

“I think we have finally gotten rid of Mycroft’s surprise visits!” Sherlock was incredibly pleased with himself and his daughter. He took her from John’s arms and kissed her before putting her back down so she could continue playing with her bear.


	18. Chapter 18

John came out of their bedroom, freshly dressed and showered, still towel-drying his hair. He moved into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee before heading into the living room. He paused in the threshold between the two rooms, leaning against the wall, admiring the sight in front of him - Sherlock and Sam sitting together on the couch. He smiled to himself and walked closer to the duo.

“Ok. So I have a short shift today. I should be back around noon. Will you guys be ok?” Sherlock looked up from the article he was reading to Samantha - something about chemical genetics and drug identification. Surprisingly to John, she seemed interested in the subject; or she just liked the sound of her Papa’s voice - John could relate to _that_.

“Of course.”

“Don’t forget to give her lunch. There are some cut up oranges and cheese sticks in the fridge.” Sherlock looked at John with annoyance.

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of Samantha, John. I _have_ looked after her before.”

John just nodded at Sherlock, then turned to Sam. “Sammy, will you be good for Papa?”

“Yesss.” She scooted closer to Sherlock and crawled onto his lap.

“See you later. Call me, Sherlock, if anything comes up.”

John gave them both kisses before waving goodbye and leaving the flat. Sam waved goodbye to her Dad as Sherlock continued reading.

Things were slow at the surgery. He met with a few patients - all runny noses and hypochondriacs. His last patient thought he had a brain tumor because of a headache; turned out he was just dehydrated. Dull, John thought with a chuckle, he had apparently started picking up some of Sherlock’s phrases. Oh, how he would rather be at home with his family than here, working. John sat at his desk filling out paperwork, he pinched the bridge of his nose; the paperwork was giving him a headache. He pulled out his phone to text Sherlock.

_Slow day. Why don’t you and Sam pick me up at noon and we can go on a family outing? -JW_

_Crime scene. Mrs. Hudson watching Samantha. Come when shift is over. -SH_

John dropped his head on his desk with a sigh. Of course there was a crime scene to go to, and of course he couldn’t go. He felt like the kid who got sick the day of an awesome field trip. As much as he would have loved to abandon his post and meet Sherlock, John knew he needed to stay till the end of his shift. It was just his luck, about half an hour before he was supposed to leave the clinic got an influx of patients, which unfortunately meant that John was going to have to stay late. He tried calling Sherlock but it went to voice mail. John left a quick message then called in his next patient.

\---

Sherlock walked up to the crime scene and scanned the area. Nothing seemed out of place - no signs of a struggle, thief probably snuck in when the residents were out of the house. He walked over to the safe on the back wall. Dial, not pin-pad, clever, not as easy to figure out the code. Inside the safe everything appeared to be in its proper place, but Sherlock noticed a spot where the dust is out of place - must have been something small, a pair of earrings or a bracelet. He trailed his magnifying glass down the outside of the safe - no fingerprints, no trace evidence, the burglar was careful, wore gloves.

He pulled out his phone, no texts, it was half past one, _John should be here by now or have at least texted_. He saw the missed call from John and texted him.

_Where are you? -SH_

There was no reply for several minutes, and then finally his phone buzzed.

_Sorry, held up at the clinic. On my way. Address? -JW_

He sent the address and went back to inspecting the scene moving from the safe to the floor, looking for footprints. John arrived shortly, and Lestrade directed him upstairs to Sherlock. He immediately ran up the stairs and upon entering the bedroom walked over to Sherlock, who was bent over, wiggling his way underneath the bed. John stood there for a moment, eyeing Sherlock’s arse sticking up in the air. A chuckle escaped him which alerted the detective to his presence. Carefully, Sherlock slid out from underneath the bed and stood up.

“Ahh, John. Finally.” He smiled at the doctor and leaned in for a kiss. John was slightly taken aback, they usually kept it professional at crime scenes, and were not publically demonstrative of their relationship even when they were not working.

“Hello to you, too.”

Lestrade walked in just in time to see the two making seductive eyes at each other and Sherlock leaning in for another kiss. “Oi! This is a crime scene, fellows, not a parked car! Save it for when you’re at home.”

 

John blushed and stepped away from Sherlock, clearing his throat. “So... What happened?” He directed the question to the DI.

“Jewelry theft. The couple came home to find the safe open a pair of earrings missing.”

Lestrade continued to fill John in on the details of the crime while Sherlock slunk further under the bed. It was a tight squeeze; he barely fit underneath, boxes scattered around him. He had reached the other side of the bed when he saw something under one of the boxes. He pushed it aside, carefully withdrawing his find - a business card:

J. Moriarty, Consulting Criminal  
(020) 7934 8651  
jmoriarty@consultcrime.co.uk

Sherlock quickly pocketed the evidence while glancing around, making sure no one saw him, and stood up.

“What have you got?” Lestrade asked, hopeful that the mad detective found something new.

“Not much. You’re looking for a woman, 175 centimeters tall, faint impressions in the carpet, size 8 shoe. There are no scratch marks on the safe, so the burglar must be experienced with safe-cracking or figured out the code another way. She most likely came in through the window. Trellis outside would be easy to climb up, and it’s got enough cover so she wouldn’t likely have been seen.”

“Brilliant!” John exclaimed. Even after all these years, John was still impressed every time Sherlock pulled vital information out of practically no evidence. Sherlock gave John a quick smile then turned back to Lestrade.

“We’re done here. Let’s go, John. I need to get to St. Bart’s.”

Before Lestrade could protest, John and Sherlock were already out of the room.

\---

Sherlock was hunched over a microscope, analyzing some residue found at the crime scene that he hoped might give him a location where the burglar was. Sherlock looked up from his microscope and found John sitting at one of the desks, head on the table - he had fallen asleep. Sherlock knew John had a long day at the clinic and was exhausted.

Sherlock wanted John to go home, but the doctor was a stubborn one and refused to leave. The door to the lab opened quietly and Molly’s head popped in.

“Hey, Sherlock. I brought you some coffee.” She entered the lab and set the coffee down on the table. “So, any luck?”

The detective picked up the cup and took a sip - black, two sugars. Just the way he liked it.

“No hits so far, but the program hasn’t been running too long, I’m sure I’ll get one soon.”

“Anything I can help with?” She asked as she pulled up a chair and sat next to Sherlock. He looked at her, “Um... Yeah.” He got up and walked over to where John was sleeping. Carefully he pulled a stack of papers out from under John and before leaving gave him a kiss on the top of his head. He handed the stack of papers to Molly, they were maps of the greater London area. She flipped through the papers and then looked between John and Sherlock.

“You two really are sweet together. You clearly love him.”

Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable. He hated when people talked about his relationship with John as it was none of their business. Plus, he never knew how to respond.

“Yep.” He muttered and went right back to looking in the microscope.

“Right. So. What am I looking for?”

“See if you can locate any place where someone might be hiding. Abandoned buildings, that sort of thing.”

Sherlock went back to monitoring the computer while Molly searched through the maps. When she finally looked up from the maps, Molly was shocked at how quickly the time had passed. She had been studying them for hours! Her eyes were drooping, her brain wasn’t working right - she needed to go home. Molly started to say something but was interrupted by Sherlock shouting

“Aaahhhh! Why? Why can’t I find her?!” He slammed his fists on the table.

John’s head snapped up. “Wha?” He rubbed his eyes and looked around. “Sherlock. What time is it?”

“Midnight.”

“Sherlock,” John yawned and rubbed his eyes again. “Let’s call it a night and go home. We still have to pick up Sammy from Mrs. Hudson’s and I don’t think she’s going to be happy about how late we’re going to be.”

“John. I need to finish this. I need to know where she’s hiding!”

John just gave him a look and Sherlock complied.

“Fine.” He said as he barged past John and out of the lab.

“Goodnight, Molly. Thanks for your help.”

“‘Night, John.”

They didn’t speak on the ride home. Sherlock was in a mood and John was tired and fed up with Sherlock’s attitude. When they arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock hopped out of the cab and stomped upstairs, while John stopped at Mrs. Hudson’s flat to pick up Sam. He was handed a sleeping baby from a not-so-pleased landlady. He apologized profusely and promised it wouldn’t happen again. He carried his daughter upstairs and got her situated in her crib before heading into his own room, passing Sherlock sitting at the table on John’s laptop.

John paused, “Come to bed soon?”

Sherlock just stared at the computer, ignoring John. With a sigh, the doctor went to bed, leaving the detective to his work.


	19. Chapter 19

_Went out._

The note was on the kitchen table, on top of a pile of lab notebooks and journal articles. _At least he left a note this time_ , John thought as he started to neaten the table. He pulled out his phone to text his boyfriend.

_You going to be home soon? -JW_

Putting his phone back in his pocket, John continued to clean up the kitchen, then moved to the living room where Sherlock had made an even bigger mess. News clippings and internet searches and snagged evidence littered the wall and coffee table. Sherlock had been trying to find a pattern. John starred at the wall for a minute, picturing Sherlock busily working through the information.

By the time John started making dinner, he hadn’t yet heard from Sherlock. John decided to send another text; Sherlock did have a tendency to ignore texts when he was working.

_Where are you? -JW_

When several more hours passed and he still hadn’t heard from Sherlock, John started to worry. He quickly sent off several texts to Sherlock, Lestrade, and Molly.

_Sherlock, you better text or call me soon! Or better, just come home. -JW_

_Greg, haven’t heard from Sherlock all day. Is he with you? -JW_

_Sorry, mate. I didn’t call him today. -GL_

_Have you seen Sherlock today? -JW_

_He stopped by Bart’s this morning, but he left hours ago. -Molly_

_Sherlock Holmes. If you do not answer me in the next 5 min I will resort to drastic measures! -JW_

When none of the usual suspects knew where the mad detective was, John realized who he would have to call. A person he really didn’t want to call, and whom Sherlock would loathe being found by. _Serves him right for running off like that._ John picked up his phone and scrolled until he found the number he was searching for:

**Mycroft Holmes**

He pressed call.

_“John. How can I help you?”_ John sighed, of course Mycroft would know it was John calling, he probably knew why too.

“How did you...”

_“Caller ID, John.”_

“Oh. Right.” John replied curtly. “Sherlock is...”

_“Missing?”_

“Well, I mean... He left a note, but he isn’t answering any of my texts and he’s been acting strange ever since we left the crime scene last night.”

_“This wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared, John.”_ He said that with such a demeaning tone.

“Yes, and all of those other times, Sherlock ended up in trouble. You can see where my concern is coming from.” John was irritated. “Are you going to help me or not?”

_“Of course. I don’t want my dear brother in danger any more than you do. I will send you any information I find about his whereabouts.”_ Mycroft disconnected before John could utter a resentful _thanks_.

He was pacing back and forth in the living room, Samantha in her play-pen happily inspecting her toy laptop. That gave John an idea and he quickly pulled out his own laptop and started searching the internet history. Unfortunately, Sherlock was good at covering his tracks, and John wasn’t the most computer literate person. As he was searching ways to check a person’s cleared internet history, John’s phone dinged. Mycroft had sent him the last coordinates Sherlock’s mobile was at. John quickly searched the location on his computer and rushed downstairs to Mrs. Hudson.

“Mrs. Hudson!” He shouted, banging on her door. “Mrs. Hudson!”

She opened the door, panic on her face. “What is it dear?”

“I need you to watch Samantha. I think Sherlock is in trouble.”

“Of course. You go!”

He ran back upstairs to grab his coat and his gun. He said goodbye to Samantha and when Mrs. Hudson entered the flat, he rushed back downstairs and out the door. Luck was on his side when he managed to hail a cab on his first try. He spurted out the address with an added _please, hurry!_ and they were off. The cab stopped in front of an old, abandoned building. John paid the driver and rushed out of the cab and into the building.

Once inside, John slowly pulled out his gun and held it at the ready. It was pitch black inside and John wished he had thought to grab a flashlight. He walked around the first floor; he quietly searched and cleared every room he came across: nothing. Rats scurried past him as John continued his search up the stairs. He efficiently cleared the two rooms on the second floor. When John reached the third floor, he heard a muffled noise coming from the back room. As quietly as possible, John followed the sound, inspecting every room on the way, making sure no one was hiding. He peered through the crack in the door and saw a figure hunched over in a chair - it looked like Sherlock, but he couldn’t be sure. He slowly pushed open the door, the silhouette remained still as John approached.

“Sherlock,” John tried to shake him awake. “Sherlock, are you alright?” Sherlock looked up at him while John went to untie the ropes at the detective’s wrists and feet. Sherlock’s eyes focused behind the doctor, John looked up with concern as Sherlock shook his head, eyes going wide.

“Nooooooo!”

John heard yelling and felt a sharp pain at the back of his head, then it all went black.


	20. Chapter 20

“Come to bed soon?” John asked, hopefully.

Sherlock didn’t respond, instead he ignored the doctor, still irritated that the search for Moriarty was fruitless. He sat at the laptop for hours, angrily pounding at the keyboard, desperate for any information that might lead him to Moriarty, or, more accurately whoever was behind the facade of Moriarty. When the computer searches yielded nothing, the detective collected all his files on Moriarty and the cases, new and old. He shoved everything off the coffee table and started to organize the information. He pinned all of the relevant data to the wall above the couch and stood there, staring, thinking, planning. Nothing! Nothing was coming together! Why? Why couldn’t he solve this one? He needed to solve this one. It had taken him two years, two years of his life and John’s life, a life they could have spent together, to destroy the web Moriarty had spun. How had he missed her, how had he not known that Moriarty had a sister? Sherlock tugged at his hair in frustration, mussing his dark curls. Angrily, he flopped onto the couch and assumed his thinking position. Maybe there was something in his mind palace that could connect the dots.

Sherlock had worked through the night with little luck. After searching the internet again, the detective realized he needed to go back to Bart’s and examine the dirt sample again; he must have missed something. He took a quick shower and changed quietly, as to not wake John. The doctor needed his sleep and Sherlock was only going to be at Bart’s and didn’t require John’s presence. He put on his coat and scrawled a note to John, letting him know that he left, and placed it on the kitchen table.

The cab pulled up to the hospital 15 minutes later. Sherlock ran into the building and up to his lab. He reexamined the sample and reran it through his program - it was supposed to provide possible locations of origin for the sample based on pollen and microbes in the dirt. Sherlock dragged his hands over his face in frustration - he was getting nowhere. He pulled out the business card he had stashed in his pocket yesterday. He decided to examine it while the program ran. He held the paper up to the light - standard cardstock, slight texture to the paper, laser printer, low on toner. He grumbled with anger, it was just a standard business card - that was the brilliance of it. Nothing to distinguish it, not even for the brilliant Sherlock Holmes; it was probably ordered in bulk off the internet. Sherlock stood up forcefully, the chair rolling away behind him. _Ping ping ping._ The program. _Finally!_ He read the report, which listed several locations around the greater London area. Sherlock inspected every area, but none of them stood out until he recognized the last location on the map. _An abandoned warehouse just outside London. Not the most clever location..._ His thoughts trailed off as he exited the lab, determined to end this business once and for all.

\---

John slowly drifted back into consciousness, his head throbbing. He carefully opened his eyes and looked around, trying to determine where he was. He tried to move, but soon realized he was tied up to a chair, just like... Sherlock! John panicked, turning, trying to find Sherlock.

“Stop moving, John. I’m right here,” Sherlock’s voice was weak and he was clearly in pain.

“Sherlock.” John sighed. “Sherlock, where are you? What happened? What is going on?” John twisted his head, searching for Sherlock. He jerked his head to the side too quickly, causing him to wince and close his eyes; his head was pounding. He wiggled in the chair, trying to scoot it closer to Sherlock.

“John. Stop... Stop moving. You’re making... too much noise. She’ll be back soon.”

“Are you alright, Sherlock? What did she do to you?”

Sherlock winced, his breathing was labored, “I think... I may have a broken... rib. It’s bruised at the... very least.”

“When we get out of here we’re going straight to A&E.” Despite Sherlock’s distress, he still managed to roll his eyes at John. John ignored his boyfriend’s childish behavior and continued talking, “So any plans for getting us out of here?”

Before Sherlock could answer, the door slammed open, and a figure stood in the doorway. John couldn’t make out who it was, but he was able to see that it was a woman, not that he ever doubted Sherlock. Slowly and seductively, she sauntered over to where John and Sherlock were tied up. John squinted as she got closer, trying to make out who this was, but the room was dark and the light from the doorway didn’t reach them. She walked over, stopping in front of Sherlock. She ran a finger down the side of his face and along his jaw, pulling his face up so he would look at her.

“Hey there, Sherl. How’r ya feelin’?”

John gasped. He recognized that voice. Granted, he hadn’t heard it in almost two years, but it was definitely her. “Ja- Janine!”


	21. Chapter 21

“But... How... You’re...” John choked out. John couldn’t believe it was Janine. He knew her! She was Mary’s best friend and a bridesmaid at their wedding. She and Sherlock dated for a while and he even ended up proposing to her. Now that was something John didn’t want to think about. Janine had seemed so sweet and kind; how could she do these horrible things? John was utterly perplexed at this information.

“Yes, John. It was me. Jimmy was my older brother, half-brother, actually.”

“But, why? Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you think? Revenge, John. Your boyfriend here murdered my brother!” She shot an accusatory glare at Sherlock.

“I didn’t kill your brother. He killed himself.”

“LIAR! He wouldn’t have done that! You provoked him! He became so obsessed with you, with getting your attention! You turned him down, you shattered his ideas about you!”She punched Sherlock, blood dripped down his cheek. “You might not have pulled the trigger, but it is still your fault my brother is dead.” She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply to calm her rage. “Jimmy always thought he was so clever. He was, yes. But he always ignored me, never gave me the time of day as a child. But, oh how I looked up to him. He did like that.” She paused, reminiscing on her childhood. “All I ever wanted was to be like my big brother, but would he let me? No! I worked and worked to get him to respect me, to get him to see that I was just as capable as he was.” Her voice echoed through the room as it grew louder with pain and anger. “That I could help him with his business! I could have been his right hand man.” Janine turned her back to John and Sherlock, who took the opportunity to try and wiggle their way out of the restraints. One of the chairs scooted forward, making a loud scraping sound, at which Janine spun back around. _Tisk-tisk_ , she made a clicking noise at Sherlock and John. “Don’t even bother trying to get out. Even if you manage to untie the ropes, I’ve got all the entrances covered. I might not have been part of my brother’s organization, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my own contacts. Some of them even used to work for my brother, before you killed him!”

Janine raised her arm to strike Sherlock again.

“NO!” John yelled, and Janine paused. “Just, leave him alone.”

“Oh, how sweet. What? You would rather me take care of you? Don’t worry, all in good time.”

Sherlock flinched when she threatened John. This had nothing to do with the doctor, this was about him. He needed to draw Janine’s attention away from John. “This has nothing to do with John. This is between you and me.”

The look in Janine’s eyes immediately told Sherlock that he made a mistake - he had just given away his weakness. “Hmm.” A sinister grin slowly crept on her face. With her arm still raised, she shifted her body and slammed her arm down across John’s face. Sherlock scowled but continued to glare at Janine, not wanting to reveal how much it actually pained him to see John being beaten. Janine threw several more blows at John before pulling out a gun from her pocket.

“I think this is a wonderful form of retribution, don’t you think? Your lover dying, right before your eyes, knowing that it is your fault, but there was nothing you could do to stop it?” Turning away from Sherlock and towards John, she raised the gun, aiming it directly at the spot between John’s eyes. Janine cocked her head, “You don’t look nearly as scared as you should be. You’ve been in this situation before.”

John was breathing heavily, but maintained an outwardly calm appearance. “You’re not the first bitch to point a gun at me. I’ve been to war, I’ve seen things, done things. You don’t scare me.”

Anger slowly crept across Janine’s face. She was finished with them. Finished with stupid men thinking she couldn’t hold her own. She released the safety on the gun, and her hand did not waver.

“John...” Sherlock whispered, trying to get John to stop provoking their captor.

“Say goodbye, boys.”

The door slammed open, and Janine reflexively pulled the trigger even as she swirled around to see who was interrupting.

“What the...”

Half a dozen fully armed men swarmed in the room, surrounding the deranged woman.

“GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!”

“PUT THE GUN DOWN!”

“HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD, NOW!”

Janine froze. Never did she expect that anyone, let alone the police, would breach her perimeter. She thought about trying to fight her way through the cops and make a break for it, but when three more armed men entered the room, she decided to follow the instructions. Regretfully, she dropped the gun and sank to her knees, raising her hands to the back of her head.

John watched from his chair as the men enclosed around Janine. He struggled to free himself from the restraints, but they were tied too tight. He was thankful that the bullet Janine had fired missed, though he wasn’t able to track where it ended up. He managed to loosen the ropes and was trying to tug his hand through the loop when one of the police officers came over and cut the ropes. John stumbled as he tried to stand with ankles sore and raw from being bound for so long. The officer held him up as he moved.

“Sherlock...” John bent down to untie the bindings around his wrists and ankles. Sherlock tried to stand up, but his legs gave and he collapsed on the floor. John knelt next to Sherlock and slid his arms underneath the detective, lifting him off the floor. A spot of red caught John’s eye and he turned for a closer look.

“Sherlock!” He was bleeding. The bullet had hit Sherlock. “We need the paramedics! NOW!” John ordered as he tried to stop the bleeding. “Look at me, Sherlock. You need to stay awake. Sherlock!”

“John...” Sherlock whispered before he slipped into unconsciousness.


	22. Chapter 22

_“Sherlock! Stay with me. Can you hear me? Sherlock!”_

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_“We’ve got a gunshot wound to the abdomen, patient is going in and out of consciousness”_

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_“It’s ok, Sherlock. I’m here. Stay with me.”_

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_“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move. We need to get him into the operating room as quickly as possible.”_

_“I’ll be here when you get out, Sherlock. I love you!”_

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_“How is my brother doing, Doctor Watson?”_

_“He’s stable. The anesthesia should be wearing off soon....”_

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_“Oh, John!”_

_“It’s ok, Mrs. Hudson. He’s going to be ok.”_

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_“Daddy! Papa!”_

_“Hey, Sammy. Papa will wake up soon, then you can give him a big hug and kiss.”_

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Sherlock heard voices, _John, Samantha, Mrs. Hudson... Mycroft_. He tried opening his eyes, but they seemed to be stuck. After struggling for several minutes, he was finally able to open his eyes, but promptly shut them when the light became overbearing.

“Sherlock?” John was soon at his side, wrapping Sherlock’s hand in his own.

His eyes opened, squinting. “John?”

John leaned down pressing his lips against Sherlock’s. “Sherlock,” he sighed. “I thought I’d lost you, again.”

Sherlock was slowly dragged back into sleep before he could respond.

When he woke again, John was talking with a doctor and Mrs. Hudson was sitting on a chair in the corner entertaining Samantha. Thankfully, Mycroft was nowhere to be seen.

“Joh-John,” Sherlock croaked, his throat dry from lack of use. John was soon at Sherlock’s bedside, holding his hand.

“Hey there, Love. How’re you feeling?”

John chuckled when Sherlock grimaced; he was always annoyed when John called him pet names, but John couldn’t help himself.

“I’m fine.” He struggled to get the words out, but John could tell he was in pain. “Janine... What happened? Did we get her?”

John laughed. Of course Sherlock would be more interested in the case than his own wellbeing. “She’s with Mycroft’s men. I called him before I went to find you. He promised he wouldn’t let _this_ Moriarty out. Ever.”

“How’d you manage to get Mycroft to promise anything?”

“There may have been several threats...”

Sherlock grinned, loving that his boyfriend was capable of handling his annoying brother.

\---

Three days later, Sherlock was driving the doctors and nurses up the wall with his demands and complaints. He had already tried to escape two times, that the doctors knew of. John caught him trying to sneak out another four times.

“Jooooohn. Why am I still in here?”

“Jesus, Sherlock. It’s only been three days! The doctors want to keep an eye on you to make sure you’re healing properly and no infections develop. Not only were you shot, but you have three bruised ribs and severe lacerations to your wrists and ankles.”

Sherlock suspiciously eyed John, “Why weren’t you admitted? You should have lacerations too.” He was stopped by John holding his wrists up so Sherlock could see the bandages around his arms.

“They already took a look at me.”

“Get me out of here, please!”

“I’ll talk to the doctor. See what I can do.”

John came back five minutes later, discharge papers in hand. He waved them at Sherlock who grinned and started to get out of the bed, ripping the IV out of his arm.

“Sherlock!” John yelled. “Damn-it! Let a nurse or doctor do that for you. You could hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine, John. Let’s go home!”

When they got back to Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson was waiting in the flat with a wailing Samantha in her arms. They were both clearly upset. “Oh, Sherlock! We were so worried. Samantha missed you!” She pulled Sherlock into a hug while still holding Samantha. Mrs. Hudson fussed for a while and then left to make some tea and biscuits. She handed Samantha to John. He tried to comfort his daughter, but she knew they had been in trouble and was still worked up. Sherlock was staring out the window, wincing with every breath. Samantha, who was still sobbing in John’s arms, looked over at Sherlock and cried for him.

“Papa!”

He walked over to the couch and picked Samantha out of John’s arms, holding her tight. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and rocked her back and forth, trying to quiet her.

“Sit down, Sherlock, please.” John looked slightly distressed and just wanted his family with him. Sherlock winced as he sat down, daughter in arms: his abdomen was still sore, and his pain meds were wearing off. John scooted closer and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend. After a moment, John broke the hug.

“Let’s go to bed.”

The three of them padded their way to the downstairs bedroom. John and Sherlock slept curled up facing each other, Samantha nestled between them.


	23. Chapter 23

None of them slept well that night, still shaken up from the previous week’s ordeals. Every few hours Samantha awoke crying for Sherlock or John, waking them up in the process. Each time, it took John at least half an hour to calm her down and get her back to sleep. Sherlock’s pain medications allowed him to quickly fall back asleep, for which John was thankful. It was difficult getting Sherlock to sleep for a good eight hours on a good day, never mind when he was restless and bored, and being stuck in the hospital for close to a week had used up all of Sherlock’s tiny reserve of patience.

“Daddy! Papa!” Samantha screamed and abruptly sat upright, tears streaming down her face. John strained to open his eyes and sat up, pulling Sam onto his lap.

“Shhh. It’s ok,” he whispered, rocking her back and forth. “Papa and I are both here now. We’re all right, honey. Shhh.”

She looked up at John, her eyes e puffy and red, although they never looked bluer than when she was crying. They always reminded him of Sherlock’s eyes when they got like that. It was heartbreaking for John to see his daughter in such agony. He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. Sherlock stirred and John reached over and began rubbing Sherlock’s back, too.

“Shhhh. See, Papa is right here.” Samantha hiccoughed and reached for Sherlock. She tried to mimic John’s motions but ended up violently patting her Papa instead of gently stroking his back. John chuckled and pulled her away. “Let’s let Papa sleep some more, eh? He’s had a rough week.” He glanced at his mobile and realized it was almost six thirty.

Knowing he would not get back to sleep he asked Samantha “How ‘bout you and I make some breakfast?”

She smiled at him and clapped her hands “Toast!”

Samantha squirmed in John’s arms, wanting to be put down. When they got out of the room he let her walk to the kitchen by herself. He still kept a hold of her hands, guiding her and making sure she didn’t fall down. John was amazed at how quickly she was growing; it seemed like yesterday that he and Sherlock had brought her home from the hospital. It had definitely been a crazy year and a half. They made it to the kitchen and John picked her up again.

“Now, what do we want for breakfast? Toast and eggs?”

“Yes.” Samantha squirmed again. “Daddy! Down!”

John laughed and put the child gate up in the kitchen before setting her down again. She roamed around the kitchen as John made their breakfast. John looked at the clock again.

It was now seven and John knew he would have to wake Sherlock soon, since he’d promised Greg he would bring Sherlock down to Scotland Yard to discuss the case. They were all interested in knowing how Sherlock had put everything together and how he knew where to find Janine.

“Come on, Sammy. Let’s go wake Papa.” John said to Sam after they finished eating.

She and John walked back to the bedroom. As soon as John had opened the door, Samantha burst through, yelling “Papa! Papa! Up, Papa!” She tottered over to Sherlock’s side of the bed and started banging her hands on the bed. John followed and sat on the bed next to Sherlock. He leaned down and kissed his boyfriend’s cheek.

“Sherlock. It’s time to get up.” He said as he continued to pepper Sherlock’s face with kisses.

Sherlock rolled over and mumbled into his pillow, “No. Tired.”

“That’s the drugs, they’ll wear off soon. But you need to get up. We promised Greg we would stop by.”

Sherlock turned back around to face John. “Who?” he asked with a look of confusion.

John rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sherlock. Greg! Greg Lestrade! You’ve known him longer than you’ve know me and you still don’t know his name!” John laughed and reached down to pick up Samantha who was now trying to crawl up on the bed with little success. “Get up,” he ordered a final time, standing up. “ Now!”

\---

The cab pulled up to Scotland Yard and Sherlock, John, and Samantha all exited. John carried Samantha through the doors while Sherlock slowly walked behind. The stitches pinched and the hole in his stomach hurt. Normally, Sherlock loved to show off his skills to the Yard and especially to John, but today he wasn’t looking forward to it. He just wanted to go home, to be with John and Samantha. All the other times he was injured, Sherlock didn’t care about healing, he was only interested in solving the next case. But that was when he didn’t really have a home. Yes, he always had a warm place to sleep, but he never felt like he could call it home. That is, until John walked into his life. As cheesy as it sounded, and Sherlock loathed the sentiment of it, John was the first person to make him feel at home, to make him feel like he fit in. And last week, he realized exactly how much he loved his home. Seeing John walk through the warehouse door that night caused Sherlock to cringe with fear. The sensation was disconcerting because Sherlock never got scared. Fear was illogical, a useless sentiment. This time, he had something to lose, and he was not ready to lose John and Samantha.

John turned back, noticing Sherlock had stopped and was lost in reverie. Walking back over, John touched Sherlock’s arm.

“You alright there, Love?”

Sherlock’s eyes refocused when he heard John speaking. “Yes, John.” Sherlock took hold of John’s hand and allowed himself to be lead to Lestrade’s office.

Lestrade was sitting at his desk, engrossed in the case file from Sherlock and John’s kidnappings. A quiet cough got his attention and made him look up.

“Oh! I wasn’t expecting you till later. How you holding up, Sherlock?”

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“Alright then. Have a seat.”

John pulled out a chair for Sherlock, which he ignored, pulling out the other chair for himself. Sherlock did not appreciate being patronized. Just because he was injured did not mean that he was incapable of doing things for himself. John shook his head and sat down, placing Samantha on his lap.

“What do you want to know, Lestrade?” Sherlock asked with annoyance.

“Well, we already got John’s statement at the hospital, but you were too out of it. Let’s start with the night after the jewelry heist.”

Sherlock sighed, “At the crime scene, I found a business card under the bed. It was for a J. Moriarty. At first, I thought it was referring to our old friend, Jim, and his sister was just using it as a calling card. I brought it to the lab at Bart’s and attempted to analyze it further, but there wasn’t much in terms of trace evidence. I had, however collected some evidence from the footprints in the carpet, I had hoped that based on soil analysis I could determine her whereabouts, or at least where she had been recently. I found traces of drywall dust and brick powder, which indicated that she had been around a construction site, possibly an abandoned building of some sort. The results of my analysis also produced several samples of pollen in the residue, but unfortunately it was not very useful because it could be found in almost every surrounding area of London.”

Sherlock was interrupted by Samantha. She had crawled off of John’s lap and was tugging on Sherlock’s trousers, wanting to be picked up. Carefully he bent over and lifted his daughter onto his lap. She didn’t want to sit still, and kept trying to pull the curls that had fallen on his face. Sherlock continued his explanation whilst batting away the toddler’s hands.

“When we got back to the flat that night, I continued to think over all the evidence I had collected throughout the cases. I knew Moriarty had a sibling, which at first I thought was a brother, but after the missing person case, I started to think I had drawn a conclusion too quickly. I went back through the data I had collected about Moriarty’s family and was able to comfortably confirm he, indeed, had a sister.”

“Ok, so how did you end up determining the location of her base?”

“In Mrs. Williams’ confession, she described the location she was taken for her meeting with Janine. She was blindfolded on her journey, but was able to describe sounds and smells. With that information and the results of my soil analysis, I was able to narrow it down. Once I figured out where she would be, I went after her. I would have called John, but he was sleeping, and someone had to be there for Samantha.” Sherlock looked away, almost embarrassed. “Plus,” he whispered. “I didn’t want John to get hurt.”  
John smiled at Sherlock. “Amazing, as always.” He reached over and took Sherlock’s hand. “But, you should have called me. We could have gone together. Plus, you knew I would come after you!”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on getting captured, John!”

“Now, now, gentlemen.” Lestrade didn’t want them to get into a full blown domestic in his office.

John could see the look of indignation stirring on Sherlock and knew the detective needed to get home soon and the medicine was the perfect excuse. “Is there anything else, Greg? Sherlock is going to need another dose of pain meds soon and I would prefer for him to be at home when he takes them. One of the side effects is drowsiness.”

“Yeah, that’s it for now. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

Sherlock and Samantha were out the door before John had the chance to say goodbye to Lestrade. John shrugged at Greg and ran after Sherlock and their daughter.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooooooooo sorry I never posted this! I thought I had. :( Thank you to the two people who left me comments to remind me! Again I am so sorry! I hope you still enjoy this!

Several weeks later, Sherlock was deemed medically fit enough for moderate physical activity. Sherlock was elated at the news and immediately phoned Lestrade to see if he had any cases.

"John!" Sherlock shouted up the stairs. John was getting Samantha ready to stay with Sherlock's parents for the weekend; they were so happy to have a grandchild. "John! Hurry up! We have a case."

A minute later, John and Samantha came down the stairs holding a small suitcase. "We're coming, we're coming. Calm down, Sherlock. What time is Mycroft picking up Samantha?"

The doorbell rang before Sherlock could answer.

"Perfect timing!" John exclaimed as he knelt down to talk to Samantha. " Now you be good for Grandmummy and Granddaddy, alright? And don't give Uncle Mycroft too much trouble."

"Ignore that last bit, Samantha. You give Mycroft hell!"

"Sherlock! Language, please." The doorbell rang again. "And would you go let your brother in before Mrs. Hudson gets it!"

Sherlock sulked down the stairs and let Mycroft in. 

"Good morning, brother mine."

"Mycroft"

John rushed Samantha down the stairs, hoping to send Mycroft away as quickly as possible to avoid further sibling squabbles. John handed the suitcase to Mycroft and tried pushing Samantha towards her uncle, but she was steadfastly clinging to John's leg. She was still slightly traumatized by her last experience being alone with her Uncle Mycroft. Sherlock knelt next to Samantha, eager to get to the crime scene. 

"Samantha, I know Mycroft is frightening, but we all have to deal with him sometimes; he does have his uses. Plus, it's only a two hour drive to Mummy and Daddy's house. And, while they can be simpleminded at times, they aren't all that bad. Come on, now. Go with Mycroft. OK?" He held out his hand to guide Samantha to Mycroft. She accepted and slowly came out from behind John. Sherlock picked her up. "Goodbye, Samantha. Your dad and I will see you on Sunday." Sherlock planted a kiss on her cheek and handed his daughter over to his brother. 

"Bye, Sammy! See you soon!" John waved goodbye as Mycroft carried her out the door.

"Bye Daddy. By Papa."

John went to close the door but was stopped by Sherlock's foot. 

"John, we need to get going. Now!"

John rolled his eyes as they headed off to the crime scene.

\---

 The door to 221 Baker Street slammed open and Sherlock and John tumbled through the threshold laughing and out of breath.

"Jesus, Sherlock!" John cried, leaning back on the wall. "That was utterly ridiculous!"

Sherlock laughed and closed the door. "He shouldn't have tried to outrun us. I thought our reputation was more widespread."

John laughed at Sherlock's cocky remark and looked up to where Sherlock was now looming in front of John. Secretly, John had fantasized about snogging Sherlock in the hallway; the thought that anyone could accidentally walk in on them sent a shiver of thrill thorough John. At that moment, it was as if Sherlock were reading his mind.

"Sherlock." John breathed as he leaned up, capturing Sherlock's lips with his own. John slowly moved his hands up Sherlock's arms and locked them around his neck, pulling the taller man closer. Sherlock's tongue traced around John's lips and gently parted them. John moaned at the new sensation. As Sherlock's tongue thrust inside, John sucked and rubbed his own tongue against it. Hands slid and rubbed across clothed skin as groans of pleasure filled the cramped stairwell.

John broke the kiss. "Sherlock. What about Mrs. Hudson?"

"Out. Won't be back till late." Sherlock dove back in tracing kisses along John's jawline. Gradually, Sherlock moved down John;s neck pressing rough kisses along his collarbone. He brought one hand up and unbuttoned the top button of John;s shirt to expose more skin. He gently kissed the doctor's shoulder before nipping and sucking the tender skin. John threw his head against the wall, the pain being overshadowed with pleasure.

"Oh, God. Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled against John and resumed his exploration of John's shoulder. John's hands caressed Sherlock's back, his nails scraping across the fabric, eager to touch skin. He slid his hands upward, stroking Sherlock's chest. John moved his hands to unbutton Sherlock's shirt but was batted away. He pushed Sherlock away, producing a look of confusion on the taller man's face, then, John grabbed Sherlock's collar and smashed their lips together. Sherlock grunted at the forcefulness and, in return, grabbed John's arse and pulled him close. John sharply inhaled as their quickly hardening members were pressed together. tired of the cloth separating them, John moved his hands to the top of Sherlock's trousers. He had barely gotten them unbuttoned when Sherlock grabbed John;s arms and pinned them above his head. John smiled and, in return, thrust his hips forward, grinding into Sherlock. The pleasure was overwhelming and the detective faltered, allowing John to slip his hands out of Sherlock's grasp. Promptly gaining control, John spun Sherlock around so how he was pinned against the wall. John make quick work of his boyfriend's silk shirt and swiftly moved down to his trousers, unzipping them and pulling them down to Sherlock's thighs. He palmed Sherlock's clothed erection as he took his time kissing a trail down Sherlock's chest. Sherlock closed his eyes, reveling in the sensations John's kisses were causing. as John neared Sherlock's groin, the detective inadvertently started guiding his doctor further south until John's face was level with Sherlock's hips. The men looked at each other and John smiled before placing a kiss at the top of Sherlock's pants. Carefully, John released him, encapsulating Sherlock's hardness with his mouth. 

"John!" Sherlock gasped, feeling the warmth of John around him.

John;s tongue swirled as he bobbed his head. One of Sherlock's hands moved to John;s head Stopping him, as Sherlock flung his arm across his face. 

"John, stop. I cant..." Sherlock cried out, his breathing heavy. 

John freed Sherlock and slowly stood up pulling Sherlock into another passionate kiss. 

"My turn." Sherlock said with a devilish grin on his face. H quickly returned John to his original position against the wall and hurriedly removed both John's trousers and pants. He stood back admiring the scene in front of him before diving right in. Sherlock sucked and licked John;s length. John began to thrust into Sherlock's mouth but was stopped by strong hands grabbing his hips. Sherlock engulfed the entirety of John as the doctor's knees foundered causing him to balance on Sherlock. When Sherlock sensed John was close, he let off smiling up at John who bemoaned the loss of contact. Sherlock stood up and vehemently divested himself and John of the rest of their clothes. Sherlock rubbed himself against his boyfriend's naked body before lifting John;s thighs, wrapping them around his waist, balancing against he wall. The doctor realized Sherlock had stealthily grabbed a packet of lube and a condom from his trouser pockets. He rolled the condom on and gently caressed John's entrance, prompting a soft gasp from him. Carefully the detective prodded and stretched until John was ready, then he carefully eased inside. Giving John a moment to adjust, Sherlock slowly began thrusting into John, eliciting ragged shouts of pleasure. John grasped at Sherlock to steady himself as Sherlock's pace increased until he was being pounded against the wall. Sherlock snaked a hand between them and grasped John's length, pumping in time with his thrusts. 

"Harder, Sherlock. Please. I need..." John whimpered as his pleasure mounted. 

"John, I'm..." Sherlock's thrusts became more erratic as he got closer. moans filled the air as Sherlock reached his climax. His whole body shuddered as he steadily pulled out and continued to work John, squeezing and tugging. The doctor clutched Sherlock's shoulders as he came with a cry, and collapsed into his boyfriend.

"You know how long I've wanted to do that?" John asked, panting.

Sherlock laughed and kissed John. he bent down to pick up their scattered clothes. John took Sherlock by the hand and guided him up the stairs.

"Shower, then bed?" John asked as they entered the flat.

"Bed? I had other thoughts in mind."

"You are insatiable, Sherlock!" John laughed.

They quickly fell into bed, exhausted from the day's activities, and drifted to sleep.

\---

Lestrade called early the next morning with yet another case. Sherlock's favorite kind - a locked room murder. At the news, Sherlock bounded out of the bed and rushed to get dressed. John had barely opened his sleep-filled eyes when Sherlock emerged from the bathroom fully dressed and groomed. 

"JOHN!, Wake up!" Sherlock shouted and shook the bed.

"Whas... Early..." John turned over and burrowed under the blankets.

"John! NOW!"

The doctor slowly rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. After shaving and brushing his teeth John felt much more awake. He got dressed and headed into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Sherlock heard the kettle boiling and yelled at John.

"We don't have time for tea John!"

"I am not leaving this flat without breakfast, Sherlock."

The detective huffed and collapsed on the couch. John brought his breakfast in the living room, placing a cup of tea for Sherlock on the coffee table before sitting at the table. He knew he was being mean to the detective, making him wait like that, but John couldn't help himself. 

"Joooooohn!"

"All right. All right. I'm coming."

John pulled his coat off the rack and put it on. From downstairs Sherlock called to John.

"Come on, John! The game is on!"

John laughed and followed Sherlock out the door, onto their next adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!   
> I hope you all enjoyed my story! :)


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